Shawn Versus Casper The Unfriendly Ghost
by windscryer
Summary: Shawn Spencer doesn't believe in ghosts. But he is willing to be persuaded. Psychfic Whumpathon '09 entry. Crossover with Supernatural. PYO ASR 'verse. Gen.
1. Prologue

*sings* THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOOOOOWN!

*realizes she's getting funny looks*

*coughs*

Yeah, uh, this isn't the epic I promised all y'all. But it is epic. :D

I'm still working on that one and then when IT'S posted, we'll go back to Phone Tag. I swear. -_-;;

Shawn is my Psych-canon character. I also pick on Dean and Sam a little just because it's fun. :D (Bobby's injuries are his own damn fault and he knows it.)

My weapons of choice were as follows: Coffin lid, graveyard dirt, a tree, a spiked iron fence, some gravestones, and the ground itself. Also, since it's on the list and I'm feeling cheeky, a crazy woman. :D (Yeah, I know not all of those were in the tool kit. :shows artistic license: This says I can use 'em anyway. :D)

My location was a graveyard. Which, considering how I went with the idea, is also kind of my weapon of choice. It's a very versatile location like that. :D

As to the whump... Oh come on. That would totally spoil it! Trust me though. It's in there. In spades. :snickers: :D

**TIMELINE MARKER **

Psych: After _American Duos_, before _65 Million Years Off._

Supernatural: After _Folsom Prison Blues_, before _What Is And What Should Never Be_

**

* * *

**

It all started with a back.

Bobby's to be specific.

And the fact that he threw it out.

Dean answered the call from the hospital looking for Bobby's emergency contact—a nephew Dean Spencer—at two a.m. and they were on the road by two-fifteen.

Sam called Shawn while Dean topped the Impala's tank off. They had been headed toward South Dakota anyway—well, California, but South Dakota was between them and it, so it was pretty much the same thing—and if they filled up now they should make it into Sioux Falls without having to stop again.

Shawn wasn't much fazed by the early morning call they way he had been once upon a time. Sam briefly wondered if he should give that further consideration when he was more coherent, but Dean opened the door and climbed in and Sam's concentration was broken.

"What'd Shawn say?" Dean asked as he passed a cup of coffee over.

Sam took a nice long, slow swallow of the nectar of the gods and sighed as the first pulses of caffeine-induced awareness began to bounce into his system.

"He's flying out. Probably get in this afternoon since he'll have to layover once or twice."

"We couldn't make it to him so he's coming to us," Dean said as he started the car and put it in gear. "I'm sure I've got some surprise buried way down deep somewhere."

Sam's smile was tired but genuine.

"I doubt it. That's probably the burritos from dinner last night."

Dean leaned toward his door, lifting one ass cheek off the seat. A fart squeaked out and he grinned. "Sounds like it." He sniffed. "Whew!"

"Gah, Dean!" Sam protested as he rolled down his own window, sticking his head out and breathing the fresh air rushing past his face. "You're disgusting."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm a guy, Sam. Kinda comes with the territory." He shot his sibling a look. "But being a girl I guess you wouldn't know that. Also, a Mr. Kettle returned your call, Mr. Pot. He said to call him back about the message you left on his machine. Something about him being black? And full of gas?"

Sam shot him a glare and after a few more minutes pulled his head back in and started to roll it up.

"Leave it down," Dean said.

"No way, dude," Sam said, cranking the window back up. "You have to roll down your own window if you're having regrets."

Dean snorted. "It's about air flow and staying awake, asswipe. I don't believe in regrets."

Sam thought about calling his brother on a lie so bald-faced not even the great Dean Winchester could pull it off, then decided it was way too early to be that existential. So he balled up his jacket, stuffed it between his head and the window and got comfortable.

He wasn't sleeping—not with the caffeine in his system—but resting more comfortably. Years of being on the road virtually non-stop and he'd never gotten over the annoyance factor of feeling the vibrations of the car in his skull by leaning on an unshielded window.

"What was Bobby hunting when he got hurt?" he asked, frowning.

Dean shrugged and took another belt of coffee. "Dunno. I didn't ask and the doc didn't say, obviously. Bobby's on the good stuff so I couldn't talk to him. You can play twenty-questions when we get there and the drugs wear off."

Sam accepted that answer and settled in more comfortably for the duration of the drive.

* * *

Yeah, I know, Shawn wasn't really in this one. I should have the next one up in a few days and he IS in that one though. I promise. :D

Review, plz&thx?


	2. Chapter 1

Sorry it took so long! GAH! RL is a cruel heartless *cough*...

* * *

They picked Bobby up from the hospital—they hadn't been keeping him for any other reason than they didn't want him driving on the painkillers they'd given him—and headed back to the house, Bobby tucked into the backseat of the Impala and still mostly incoherent. He slept the whole way and Sam joined him, his caffeine-inured system already well past the buzz from that first cup.

Dean had refilled at the hospital, but Sam refused to drink that sludge if he didn't absolutely have to. And since he wasn't driving and Bobby had much better stores at his house, there was no pressing need for self-abuse like that.

Arriving at the house, they got the older man up the porch stairs, loaded him up with more painkillers, and tucked him into bed where he promptly passed out again.

It wasn't yet dawn and that was reason enough for both of them to shuffle off to the bedroom they usually used and collapse onto the beds.

The house fell into comfortable silence once more.

o.o

By mid-afternoon the silence had packed its bags and headed for Tahiti with no note saying when it would be back.

And Shawn wasn't even there yet.

"It's my car, Sam. I'm going and that's that."

"But-"

"You can drive him back and have your little heart-to-heart then, okay? Maybe stop and get your hair done and chat with the girls in town about the latest gossip while you're at it."

Bobby thought about telling them again that he had been capable of taking care of himself—even injured—before either of them were born but decided he didn't want another lecture or any stern-eyed looks and pressed lips.

Why exactly had he listed them as his emergency contacts again?

"I'm heading out, Bobby," Dean said as he passed through the front room where they'd set him up for convenience and comfort. "You need anything just holler for Sam. He's sulking in the kitchen."

"I am NOT sulking!" came the reply.

"You better not be cooking either!" Dean yelled back, winking at Bobby,

Sam appeared in the doorway, brows drawn down. "Dude, I'm not an idiot. Shawn's coming."

All three men paused for a moment to smile at that.

"Yes," Dean said contentedly. "Yes, he is. You think he'll make those cheesy curly pasta thingies again?" A finger twirled in the air as he spoke, but his gaze was unfocused and the drool was almost dripping down his chin.

"The tortellini?" Sam asked, eyes lighting up. "With the marinara sauce?"

Bobby sipped his coffee. "Of course he will," he said with a snort. "If I ask nicely and wince a bit when I reach to shake his hand." Both boys grinned. Good ol' Bobby. "But I don't know if I've got everything. You'd better stop by the grocery store," he told Dean.

Who nodded. "Duh. I thought about it this morning, but it'll be better if he's there."

Sam made a shooing motion. "The sooner you go the sooner you'll be back."

Dean twirled the keys on a finger and caught them in his hand, then headed out.

"Back before you can say, 'Is it dinnertime yet?'"

o.o

Shawn was waiting on the curb when Dean maneuvered the Impala into place in the white zone.

"No bags?" Dean asked.

Shawn lifted his backpack—along with an eyebrow—and then opened the door and tossed it in the back seat.

"Motorcycles don't have huge trunks with secret armories, dude. Packing light is an art form I mastered years ago." He slid in and shut the door. "How's Bobby doing?"

Dean would have pretended offense at Shawn not asking about him first, but he knew that if he had been feeling anything less than a hundred percent Shawn would have already known about it and inquired. One of the downsides—and sometimes upsides—to having a super-observant fake psychic for a friend.

Dean shrugged one shoulder and got back out into traffic. "He'll be fine. Just has to take it easy for a few weeks."

Shawn nodded. "Good. What was he doing anyway?"

Dean coughed, cleared his throat and said, "So, we've been charged with making a supply run before we get back. Bobby wants those cheesy pasta things you make."

Shawn examined his friend and grinned widely when he realized Dean was blushing and trying to change the conversation.

Then he realized why and his mouth flipped and puckered. "Ewwwwww. That's like finding out your parents-"

"Yeah," Dean said shortly, cutting off the topic of discussion before it went any further. Or trying to anyway.

"So where's his-"

"I don't know and I don't care. It's no local... um... girl. Woman." Dean grimaced. "Whatever. Bobby said he doesn't..." Dean had to swallow down a rush of bile. "Hunt in his own backyard. Not this kind of hunting anyway." He made a face of pain and mental anguish and coughed again. "So, grocery shopping?" It was almost a plea.

"Yeah," Shawn agreed. "Man. Not that alcohol will help erase that mental image, but we're going to need it."

"Hell yes," Dean said fervently, turning onto the road with the big chain stores all lined up in a row. Alcohol wouldn't help Shawn—and for that he got a flash of pity from Dean—but not everyone was cursed with an eidetic memory.

Fortunately, he thought with a shudder.

o.o

They returned with enough food to feed an army for a month. Bobby figured it'd last a week. Maybe two if they ate out a lot.

But as long as Shawn was in residence, Bobby didn't think they'd do much of that. They never did.

Shawn greeted him with a quick scan of his very sharp eyes, a handshake, and a grin.

"How's it going, Bobby?" he asked as Sam and Dean began the task of ferrying all the food in.

Bobby didn't bother with anything but the truth. It was a waste of time with Shawn. "Hurts like hell. But I'll survive. And eventually I'll be able to take care of myself or so the doc says."

Shawn grinned as Bobby leveled a glare at Dean and Sam on their way out.

Sam ducked his head, but his shoulders had that set to them that said he would not be shamed into leaving. Dean's smirk wasn't anywhere near embarrassed.

"As much as you've ever been able to, old man," he said with a pointed look for the chaos of Bobby's house. It was organized chaos, but chaos nonetheless.

"Git," Bobby said, tossing a pillow at the older Winchester boy. Dean caught it and sent it back to Shawn who gave it back to Bobby.

"Don't feel bad," Shawn said. "Dean's just jealous because he knows you're way more capable of taking care of yourself than he'll ever be."

"I heard that, Spencer!" Dean hollered from outside.

"Good!" Shawn said, grinning and heading for the door to help with the groceries. "Then all that rock music hasn't completely destroyed your hearing."

He paused to hold the door for the two, Sam's shoulders now shaking with laughter as he passed by.

Dean just arched an eyebrow. "Says the man who blasts The Buggles at full volume."

"Video killed the radio star!" Shawn sang as he danced out the door. "Video killed the radio star! In my mind and in my car. We can't rewind, we've gone too far!"

Now Dean's eyes rolled. "Oh hell. Now I've done it."

Through the screen door wafted a horribly off-key, "You aaaaare a radio staaaaaaaar! You aaaaare a radio staaaaaaaar!"

Bobby chuckled and took another sip of his coffee.

Well at least his convalescence wouldn't be boring.

* * *

Sorry. Still no whump, I know. Well, besides Shawn's singing...

But, hey, at least all the boys are here now, right? WE CAN GET STARTED WITH TEH FUN STUFFS! *dances*

The next chapter won't take nearly as long to be put up, I SWEAR.

Review, plz&thx?


	3. Chapter 2

First, some boys being normal and also bonding. Because it's almost as much fun as whump. :D

If you're desperate for whump though, you can add a new weapon to the arsenal: wet wash cloth. :D

* * *

Shawn did make cheese tortellini with marinara sauce with assistance from Sam—mostly in the form of distracting Dean.

Dean wasn't even allowed to warm the garlic bread in the microwave after the last time he'd tried to 'help'. Sam was not kidding when he said his older brother could do many things—including burn water.

And set fire to bread in the microwave when he was just supposed to warm it.

They brought dinner out to Bobby since he was much more comfortable with his heating pad on the couch than he would be in a kitchen chair.

Dinner conversation was recent cases for Shawn, recent jobs for the Winchesters, and amusing stories of Sam and Dean's childhood for Bobby.

Dirty looks were traded, laughter was shared, and some damn good food was consumed in large quantities.

After that they had a beer or two, but they called it a night early. Bobby's painkillers kept him not too far from the edge of sleepy and when he started to drift the boys finished their drinks and cleaned up.

"Sorry we had to cancel on you again," Sam said as he dried next to Shawn's washing. Dean was storing the food and putting everything away.

Shawn, as usual, waved it off. "Dude, your lives are unpredictable. If I haven't figured that out by now, I'm a lot slower on the uptake than my dad always led me to believe."

Sam smiled as Dean joined them at the sink to start putting dishes away as Sam finished with them.

"Who says you're not?" Dean asked.

Shawn flicked some suds Dean's way and Sam cried out at the unfairness of being caught in the crossfire.

Dean was about to scoop up a handful and retaliate when the phone rang.

He dropped his ammo and wiped his hands on a towel from the table as he went to answer it.

"Hello," he said, tucking the phone between ear and shoulder and intercepting the wet washcloth Shawn sent his way. He started rolling it in his hands as he listened. "Hey, Ellen, what's going on at the Roadhouse?"

He didn't stop the act of readying his lash, but he did slow down for a moment as he shifted his concentration.

"No, Bobby's not available right now. Threw his back out. Something we can help you with?"

Shawn's next volley was delayed by the conversation as he half turned and Sam fully turned to lean against the counter, still drying dishes.

Dean's brows drew down as he swapped the towel for a pen and paper from a nearby counter and scribbled down information with a sprinkling of 'Uh huh's and 'Okay's.

"Sam and I can handle this. No, it's fine." He made a face. "Bobby got hurt Ellen, not us. We're here because he's not supposed to be lifting anything heavy—or hunting anything. Yeah. Thanks for the heads up. All right. You too. See you later."

He hung up and retrieved his towel, attempting a flick that barely missed Shawn because he sidestepped at the last second, the towel hitting the counter under the sink with a sharp snap.

Shawn smirked as Dean arched an eyebrow, silently reminding Shawn a single battle won was not the war.

Sam ignored the juvenile antics of the two older men and asked, "Ellen have a job?"

Dean nodded and reached for his dry cloth as a feint, then spun in place and managed to catch Shawn squarely on the ass.

Shawn yelped and glared, wringing out his own washcloth and twirling it in his hands.

Dean grinned and jumped back when the attack was launched.

"She said Ash found what looks like a vengeful spirit not too far from here. Figured it was close enough Bobby ought to be able to take care of it easier than sending someone from the Roadhouse. Simple salt'n'burn from the sound of it. Ash even located the bones for us already. All that's left is for us to do a little digging and have a bonfire."

"A vengeful spirit?" Shawn said, sounding interested. "A ghost?" He ducked a swipe from Dean and lunged, trying to land a hit on the other man's thigh.

"Yes and no," Dean said, just barely dodging the towel's high-velocity tip.

Sam tilted his head and finished the last of the rinsed dishes, shifting to his right to both avoid being stepped on and because it put him in a better spot to resume the washing Shawn had abandoned. "No, it _is_ a ghost, Dean."

Dean feinted to the right and went for the left, but Shawn pulled his own feint and managed to slide around the table and catch Dean on the arm while completely escaping Dean's attack.

"_Yes_, it's a ghost. _No_, he can't come," Dean clarified. He ducked another strike and then got close enough to grab Shawn's arm.

Shawn responded by hooking Dean's ankle and pulling it out from under him.

Dean half caught himself, but Sam's hand under his back actually saved him. Dean wasn't dumb enough to think he it was brotherly support. Sam just didn't want them to wake Bobby.

Which was amusing since Bobby was down for the night under sweet medicated sleep. Elephants could storm through the house and the older hunter wouldn't even stir.

But it gave Dean the boost he needed to turn Shawn's trick back on him and send him to the floor.

"Ow," Shawn hissed as he flailed an arm looking for a weapon and only managed to hit the leg of the table. "I won't interfere," he said.

Dean grinned and straddled Shawn's stomach, grabbing his right wrist and chasing after the left. "I know you won't. Because you're going to stay here and keep an eye on Bobby."

Shawn frowned and continued to evade capture, sneaking his fist in for a quick punch to Dean's stomach.

A soft oof escaped, but it did nothing to dislodge the stockier man.

"Come on, dude! I've been dying to go on a real ghost hunt!"

"I thought you didn't believe in ghosts." He made a fast grab and caught Shawn's fingers but they were still moving and slipped free.

"I don't. But I'm willing to be persuaded."

Sam finished the last pot, dried it, and put it away, then watched the two of them on the floor. Dean finally caught Shawn's hand and pinned him, arms crossed over his chest like one of those mummies in the movies.

"You said it was simple," Shawn said. "How dangerous can it be?"

Dean shook his head. "It should be. But rule number one of hunting-"

"You do what you do and shut up about it?" Shawn interrupted. "I'm not going to tell anyone, dude."

Sam snorted.

"That's rule number one of being a Winchester," Dean corrected. "Or friend of a Winchester. Rule number one of being a hunter is 'there's no such thing as a simple hunt.'"

"Yeah, dude, I know that too. Been there, done that, have the shredded t-shirt, remember?"

"Exactly," Dean said, playful tone gone. "Shawn, really, we need someone to stay with Bobby."

Shawn snorted. "Yeah, because that's going to go over well with him." He tried to pull free and then gave in with a sigh. "Fine. Uncle, dude."

Dean released him and stood, offering a hand up.

Shawn accepted it, clapping Dean on the shoulder when he was upright. "Thanks."

Then with a quick glance at Sam that got a small smile and a nod, he shoved.

It wouldn't have done anything if not for Sam grabbing Dean's other shoulder, twisting him around so he was off balance, and adding the same sudden pressure.

The older Winchester found himself face down in the greasy wash water, his brother's large hand on the back of his head to make sure it went all the way under. He had just enough time to squinch his eyes and mouth shut before he hit the water so the lingering soap traces weren't forced into them.

He came up gasping and found a fist bump being exchanged over his head.

He dipped his hands in the water and flicked upwards, splashing both of them.

An hour later they were all wet, but the kitchen was dry again and they headed off to clean themselves up and then on to bed.

o.o

Sam, with some cheating assistance on Shawn's part, got the upstairs shower first and Dean fully expected to see him asleep when he finally got the last of the grease and food out of his hair and off of his skin and made it back to the room.

Sam was in bed, but not asleep, his laptop perched on his crossed legs as he tapped away at the keyboard.

Dean scrubbed at his hair with a towel, dropping to sit on the end of his bed. "You don't trust Ash?"

Sam's eyebrows crawled upward. "You don't want me to verify it? Just to make sure? He's a helluva researcher, but doesn't exactly have a lot of experience in the field."

Dean shook his head and tossed the towel into the corner with the rest of their laundry. "Nah, that's fine. Double checking won't hurt."

Sam glanced over and then said, "So far it checks out. Just a simple salt and burn."

"Good," Dean said and flopped back. He thought about actually moving up onto the bed and decided that it wasn't quite worth the effort yet.

Besides he could practically hear Sam thinking over there. He wouldn't be sleeping until this discussion was over with. So he went ahead and got it started.

"We're not taking him."

He peeked one eye open and saw the expected bitchface.

"He's right though," Sam protested. "He's seen worse."

"And he shouldn't have," Dean said, sitting up and turning so he faced Sam's bed. "We're not supposed to be dragging him into this life, Sam. I would think you of all people would get that."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's one hunt, Dean. And barely that. You know he can handle a shotgun with enough skill to satisfy even Dad." Sam's smile turned a little mischievous. "Besides, this is Shawn. You make him dig up a grave once and he's not going to be begging to come along next time."

Dean snorted in amusement. That was a good point. Shawn was perfectly capable of doing manual labor, but it was definitely not one of his favorite things to do. He much preferred to use his ability to charm other people into doing it for him or make it unnecessary altogether.

If he were actually a hunter, he'd probably claim he was with the ME's office and get the cemetery to do the digging for him, then sneak into the morgue and season and roast the sucker with the help of the coroner's assistant.

Dean wondered if maybe he shouldn't take a leaf out of Shawn's book.

Nah. Shawn might be able to get out of a lot of hard work, but he also wouldn't be winning any wrestling matches with a werewolf anytime soon. If Dean stopped with all the manual labor he'd have to buy a gym membership somewhere just to keep his form. And considering how popular his form was with the ladies, he wasn't about to surrender it for a little less digging. And gym memberships were for pansies. Not to mention the fact that they were expensive and, oh yeah, traceable.

Besides, there was just something satisfying about setting a match to a salted corpse after you spent all night digging the poor bastard up.

"Dean?" A waving hand in front of his face made him blink.

"Huh?"

"Earth to Dean. You spaced out on me there."

Dean shook himself and moved so he was reclining on the bed. "Just thinking."

Sam grinned cheekily, dimples showing. "It's so easy to get lost in unfamiliar territory, isn't it?"

"Shut up, bitch," Dean said, tossing the second pillow from his bed at Sam.

Who caught it and stuffed behind his own back.

"Thanks, jerk."

Dammit. Shouldn't've done that. He closed his eyes and wished for the days when Sam didn't question him on stuff like this, just accept his big brother authority and went along with it.

"Look," Sam said, voice going all soft and pleading. "Bobby'll be fine for a few hours while we go take care of it. Shawn and I can dig and you can keep watch in case Casper shows up and has something to say about what we're doing. It'll go faster if two of us are digging and we don't have to sacrifice the watch that way."

Shit. If he looked, Dean was sure he'd see those big gooey puppy dog eyes and he'd be sunk.

So he kept his own eyes closed.

And frowned. "Why are you so gung ho about this? Shawn blackmail you or something?"

When there was no answer Dean cracked one eye.

And got hit with an untempered, full-force blast of Puppy-Dog Eyes of Doom.

Dammit.

He huffed out an aggravated sigh/growl and gave in.

"Fine. But you're responsible for making sure he's ready for this. You tell him exactly what to expect and that screaming like a girl and running away is not going to fly. He tries that shit tomorrow and I'll tie his ass to a headstone and leave him there in the graveyard until dawn."

Sam grinned, still Puppy of Doom, but if he had a tail his whole butt would be wagging.

"He'll be ready," Sam assured him. "And he won't cut and run on us."

"He better not or I might shoot him before I tie him up." He opened one eye again. "Can I sleep now?"

Sam nodded and closed the laptop, setting it aside and getting up to shut off the light.

"Night, Dean," he said.

Dean gave a grunt in return and snuggled into his blankets.

He was going to need all the sleep he could get for tomorrow night. His babysitting duties had just doubled.

* * *

Review, plz&thx. Also, barring unforeseen circumstances it appears that updates will be weekly. YAYZ!


	4. Chapter 3

I felt like posting early. Lucky for y'all. :D

* * *

Dean bit back a snicker when breakfast started out cold cereal but suddenly became a feast worthy of IHOP at Sam's announcement that, if Shawn was still interested, there was an open spot in the hunt. And he only managed that because Shawn's waffles were way better than IHOP could ever dream of.

Bobby asked about the hunt and got the details that Ash had shared and Sam had verified.

Bunch of underage kids out partying had forgotten to designate a driver and broadsided a nurse from the local clinic—who just happened to also be the county MADD coordinator. Ironic and sad. And, for the kids in the car, very now she was apparently bent on teaching them all some very lasting lessons about why she was MADD.

She hadn't killed any of them yet, but the incidents were escalating and it was only a matter of time.

The town was a few hours away, but not so far they'd be staying over.

Dean tried suggesting that if Bobby needed someone to stay behind— but didn't even get the whole sentence out before Bobby waved it off.

"I'll be fine for one night, Dean. Probably sleep through the whole thing." He grimaced and sipped his coffee. "Shame to miss the peace and quiet, but oh well."

Damn. Dean had been hoping Bobby would override him and say that Shawn had no business on a hunt and ought to stay here. He sighed and sipped his coffee, silently echoing Bobby's words. Oh well.

o.o

The morning was spent with Sam and Shawn out on the shooting range out back doing speed drills loading the shells and firing off a few handfuls of the things. Dean worked on a fourth cup of coffee and watched the show with a fair amount of amusement since Shawn was quite obviously humoring Sam. Really, this wasn't necessary since they were already very familiar with Shawn's skill with small arms, a fact that Sam himself had pointed out last night in his arguments.

But Sam was taking Dean's admonition to make sure Shawn was ready seriously and so he said nothing. Honestly, he felt kind of like watching his student take on a student of his own and a certain amount of pride swelled inside at that.

He wondered if Dad had ever felt like this when he'd supervised Dean teaching Sam the hunting ropes, and then winced at the pain that thoughts of his father always brought. It wasn't as sharp as it had been a few months ago, but it was definitely still there.

He resisted the urge to rub at his chest like there was an actual physical pain, then hopped off the fence and joined his brother and friend, challenging them both to a marksmanship competition.

If they were going to use up bullets, Dean might as well make some money off of it.

o.o

Lunch was sandwiches—big, thick ones loaded with all kinds of goodies that Dean would never admit to liking on a sandwich. Green things and red things and purple things that came out of the ground instead of from an animal. They kinda worked the way Shawn used them though.

Lunch conversation was Sam spewing all of his encyclopedic knowledge of ghosts and spirits and Shawn soaking it up like a sponge, asking more than a few questions that surprised Dean.

He knew the answers, but he hadn't thought to ask them before his first ghost hunt.

Bobby watched with amusement and Dean just watched.

o.o

They cleaned up when it was done and Shawn joined Dean in performing some maintenance on the Impala while discussing engines. Sam did the watching then, having little to contribute.

Shawn pried stories out of Dean about past hunts—his favorite past time when they were doing something that didn't require discussion, but didn't forbid it either.

"There was this one time in... was it Tallahassee, Sam?"

"The Pekingese?"

"Uhh..."

"The fluffy little ankle biter that destroyed your brand new boots?" Sam said dryly with a grin for Shawn.

Dean glared and wiped at a line of sweat on his cheek, leaving behind a stripe of grease. It blended nicely with the smudges on the other cheek and the smears all over his grey tee and jeans for an overall 'grease monkey' look.

"Yeah," he all but growled. "Bitch chewed them all to hell. Demon dog."

"Literally," Sam said, causing Shawn's eyebrows to rise.

The fake psychic didn't look much cleaner than Dean with dark hand prints on his white tank top and the thighs of his jeans where he'd used them for grease rags. There was a black streak across his forehead from where he'd been trying to reach down at something buried deep in the engine and rested his head on something. That same venture had left his right arm with grime and grease all up and down the length of it as well.

Sam was so not doing laundry this time. Watching from the sidelines meant he stayed nice and clean and that was just the way he liked it. Plus he wouldn't come away smelling like a Jiffy Lube.

"Damn thing was eating the other dogs in the neighborhood," Dean explained, "but it's owner, Miss Marbelle Maystone—"

"Seriously?" Shawn asked, adjusting his grip on the bit of engine he was holding.

Dean gave the wrench in his hand a good yank to make sure the bolt was tight, then nodded. "No shit. That was actually her name. Anyway she just couldn't believe her little Pooksie Pepper—" Shawn snickered and Dean's eyes rolled. "Also the real name. I couldn't make that shit up if I tried. Pooksie just wasn't a killer Miss Marbelle insisted."

Dean snorted and moved the wrench to the next bolt, waiting for Shawn to give him a nod that he was ready. "I've always wondered if she thought that right up until the moment little Pooksie ripped her throat out."

Shawn winced. "Ouch."

"Yup. We had to liberate little Pooksie from the pound, exorcise the ball of fur, and then..." He straightened, shot a glare at his brother as he wiped the wrench somewhat clean of grease, then bent down and repositioned it. "Because Sam is such a _girl_, we had to drive it to the next county and leave it at the shelter there to be adopted."

"It wasn't Pooksie's fault he was possessed."

"No, but it sure as hell _was_ Pooksie's fault that he peed in my car."

Sam smiled. "I forgot about that," he said and tipped back his head draining the last of his soda from the can.

"I didn't," Dean said shortly.

He and Shawn both straightened, looking over the engine and wiping their hands mostly clean.

"That's it, right?" Shawn asked.

"Should be," Dean said. "Let's start her up. We can take her for a test drive to get dinner. After that we've got to get going so we can do some recon of the cemetery before sundown."

"Sweet," Shawn said, following Dean over to the driver's side.

He stood by while Dean sat on a towel to protect the seats from his greasy jeans, then twisted the keys in the ignition.

The usual sweet sound of a healthy roar, followed by the low rumbling of a well-tuned V-8 answered the call and Dean and Shawn grinned.

"Awesome," Shawn declared and held out a fist.

A contented sigh escaped Dean's lips as he bumped his own fist against Shawn's. "I could listen to that purr all day long."

"And often do," Sam added dryly.

He got two arched eyebrows which lowered as their owners faced each other.

"He just doesn't get it, Shawn," Dean said mournfully. "Where did I go wrong?"

Shawn shook his head. "It's not your fault, Dean," he said, laying a hand on the other man's shoulder. "You did everything you could, I'm sure. Some people... they just don't have any taste, man. They don't know how to appreciate the finer things in life."

"Oh please," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "If this," he said with a wave of his hand at the car and the two fire hazards posing as men, "is what constitutes 'good taste' I don't want it. I'll be in the house when you two are done grunting and pounding your chests."

Shawn and Dean grinned and then Dean cut the engine while Shawn went to lower the hood.

They set about cleaning up and putting away all the tools they'd gotten out, then headed in for showers.

* * *

No whump still, I know. *sadface*

BUT OMJ BOYS GETTING FILTHY DIRTY GREASY. GUH. AND SHOOTING THINGS. AND EATING THINGS.

I could watch these boys watch paint dry. You know? :D

Review plz&thx.


	5. Chapter 4

Posting a day early for Moogs to commemorate the day of her birth. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HONEY! o/

Sorry that it doesn't _quite_ get to the whump, but there is good news! It brings us right to the edge of that pain-filled chasm.

Oh yes, next chapter there will be much whump to be had. :D

* * *

It had been a really good day, Dean thought as he stripped down and stepped under the hot spray. In their world that meant that their 'simple salt'n'burn' was probably going to go really horribly awry and he should probably change his mind and make Shawn stay behind.

When he headed into the kitchen and found Shawn just dropping some salmon into the skillet on the stove, he thought he might be off the hook.

"Hey," Shawn said when he glanced over. "Bobby said there was no reason for us to go get dinner and bring it back here since it'll be doubling back on our route to Fox Run. I'm making him something real fast and then Sam said we're heading out."

Damn. So close. Oh well.

Maybe...

"You sure you want to come, Shawn?"

Shawn flipped the fish steak, then turned and leaned on the counter. "Yeah, Dean, that's why I asked," he said with a grin, then sobered. "Why?"

Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Don't know. Just... making sure."

Shawn half smiled. "Dude, you're not getting rid of me that easily. It'll be fun! And I'll even let you say 'I told you so' if I'm proven wrong and ghosts really do exist."

Dean returned the grin. "Like you could stop me." Then he cocked his head. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Shawn said, poking the fish, then glancing over his shoulder

"If you really don't believe in ghosts, what the hell do you think we're going to find tonight?"

Shawn shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure there's something supernatural out there."

"What? Like fairies?"

Shawn shrugged again. "Sure. You're the experts. Ghosts just seem... improbable."

Dean's eyebrows arched. "Improbable? Fairies are possible, but ghosts are improbable." He shook his head and sat in a chair from the table to put on his socks and shoes. "Your logic is something else, Shawn."

Shawn's eyebrow arched. "Says the man who hunts fairies and werewolves, both of which most people would say defy logic."

"Yeah, well, most people are idiots."

Sam entered then, coming in the back door.

"We ready?" he asked.

Dean yanked his laces tight then sat up and tossed a thumb at Shawn. "Just waiting for Emeril here to finish with Bobby's dinner."

Shawn poked the salmon with a spatula, decided it was done, then slid the utensil under the fish and transferred it to a plate. He added a scoop of the rice pilaf he had warming on the back burner, then flipped the switches to turn everything off. He snagged the plate and the glass of water, then headed out to Bobby.

He returned, promising the older man he'd do exactly as he was told with only a small eye roll as he walked through the door. Sam, meanwhile, had packed up the rest of the rice and put it away, and the dishes were soaking in the sink.

Time to head out.

Jackets were grabbed and they stepped outside, Shawn and Sam yelling, "Shotgun!" at the same time and running for the car.

Sam had longer legs, but Shawn was fast for being the shortest person present and the younger Winchester only barely beat him to the door.

"Ha!" Sam crowed.

"Man!" Shawn whined.

Dean just rolled his eyes. "Sam gets it now. You can have it when we leave the restaurant, Shawn."

"Yes!" Shawn cheered and eagerly climbed in the back.

"What?" Sam protested.

"Don't pout," Dean ordered as he climbed in, "or I'll leave both of you here and go take care of this my damn self."

Sam forced his face into a neutral expression and climbed in as well.

Shawn stuck his tongue out at Sam and got a huffed, "Oh yeah, that's mature," but there was a poking fight the whole way into town and Shawn wasn't the only participant.

Dean ignored it all and wondered how he had ended up in the position as 'most responsible adult present'.

Oh, right. Because he was surrounded by CHILDREN.

Some things never change, he thought with a small, fond smile.

o.o

Shawn tried to wolf down his food as though it was a race, but Sam and Dean took their time. Well, Sam took his time. Dean just ate at his normal pace, which was, impressively, slower than Shawn's tonight.

Dean kept the conversation to non-hunt related topics, much to Shawn's annoyance, but the hunter knew that right now Shawn didn't need to be getting even more worked up.

Dean checked his watch and nodded to Sam. "You done there, Sasquatch?" he asked.

Sam glanced over his plate and shrugged. "Yeah."

They paid the bill and headed out to the car, Shawn gleefully taking the shotgun seat as Sam folded himself into the back. Dean started the car and pulled to the road, glancing left and right. Left would take them onto the hunt. Right would take them back to Bobby's.

Dean's gut said to go right and do this another night when he didn't feel like a giant hammer was hanging over their heads just waiting to drop.

But waiting might mean someone would die and, really, there was no reason to worry like this. Shawn was perfectly capable of doing what was needed on this hunt and he and Sam were going to be watching out for him and everything was going to be fine.

A little digging and a little bonfire—well, maybe not a _little_ bonfire—and they'd be on their way home to Bobby.

Dean wondered if his dad had felt like this on his first hunt or Sam's. Which was silly because this wasn't Shawn's first hunt, just his first ghost hunt. And, really, ghosts were one of the easiest hunts they had.

"Dean?" Sam said, bringing him out of his thoughts. Both he and Shawn had fallen silent when they realized their driver had spaced out on them.

Dean looked both ways again, checking for traffic this time. "Yeah." He pulled out, twisting the wheel to the left and crossing over to the proper side of the street.

Shawn's first ghost hunt was officially underway.

o.o

They arrived half an hour before sunset. Normally Dean wouldn't make a huge deal out of going that early since they couldn't get started until after it was full dark, but he wasn't taking any chances. Not after a day as good as today.

It sounded paranoid as hell, but something was bound to go wrong. Winchesters just didn't have streaks of good luck like that. So they parked outside the gates and headed in, looking like three guys just out for a walk through the graveyard in the waning daylight as Dean and Sam scoped the place out looking for potential problems or difficulties.

It was a decently-sized lot of well-maintained memorial grounds. It was located on the edge of town so as to allow for further expansion if needed, though it was bordered by a wrought iron fence, the posts tipped with arrowhead spikes. Not a tall fence, about waist high on Dean, and probably more decorative than meant to keep people out.

Dean doubted the designers knew that they had inadvertently also made it a lot harder for demons to get in. Most didn't. It was just a traditional thing. Not that hell spawn were usually all that interested in the dead, but whatever. Iron could be useful against spirits too, though only when you forced the two to collide.

Green grass stretched from fenceline to fenceline, broken by neat asphalt paths that wound and twisted through the grounds. Trees grew here and there, spreading wide limbs over the resting places of the dead. There were a few mausoleums, but mostly the internments were under the sod, marble and granite headstones and markers lined up in neat rows with gaps between them waiting for an as yet unknown resident.

They spread out a little, looking for their MADD nurse, and it was Shawn who actually located her near the back corner of the cemetery.

"Found her!" he called out and then examined the simple headstone as he waited for the other two to join him.

Rose colored granite in a plain flat rectangle flush with the ground with her name, dates of birth and death, and the legend 'An angel on Earth now doing work for the Lord in Heaven', didn't say very much for those she'd left behind like some of the other elaborate monuments nearby. But the numerous flowers, candles, and tokens still being left here several months after her death did.

She had been loved and was now being missed. It was a shame what they had to do, but, well, if she wasn't going to move on by herself they'd just have to give her a little push. It was the only way to make sure those words carved in stone were true and keep her from doing work that was decidedly not the Lord's by any denomination's standards.

"Okay," Shawn said, looking around. "Now what?"

"Now we wait for the sun to go down," Dean said, turning and heading for the path.

Sam and Shawn followed.

"Anyone up for a friendly game of poker?" Dean asked over his shoulder.

Shawn grinned. "I can always use some more money," he said.

"You're on, Pseudo-Psychic."

"Bring it, Pyro-Boy."

Sam laughed at them both. This would be an interesting game to watch.

o.o

"Call."

Dean didn't move right away, his eyes locked on Shawn. Damn he had a good face for this.

But confidence was the name of the game—and there was nothing false about Dean's confidence—so...

With a wide grin he laid the cards down on the middle of the Impala's backseat.

"Four of a kind, Nines."

Shawn's brow furrowed, then he shrugged and laid down his hand. "Royal flush."

"Dammit!" Dean cursed as Sam grinned and Shawn scooped up his winnings.

He then tossed a handful of M&M's in his mouth and said, "Blame your brother. He's the one that dealt me the ten, Jack, and King right off the bat."

Dean reached over the front seat and smacked Sam on the back of the head and glared.

"Ow!" Sam protested. "Not on purpose, Dean. Geeze."

Dean glanced at his watch and then out the windows of the car. "Well I'm out of money and it's dark enough. Let's get this done and go home."

They piled out of various doors and reconvened at the trunk. Dean passed out shotguns and everyone checked them over, then extra shells were distributed and tucked into pockets. Sam and Shawn each got a shovel while Dean put the salt in a pocket and grabbed the gas can in his free hand.

"Ready?" he asked.

It wasn't aimed at anyone in particular, but both Sam and Dean glanced at Shawn.

Who nodded. "Let's do this thing," he said, hoping that the nervousness starting to leak in past his excitement wasn't showing.

From Dean's half smile and grunt and Sam's encouraging look, it was a neon sign. Oh well. He wasn't backing out now.

They entered the graveyard and Dean—despite his words that Sam was responsible—began a last minute quiz for Shawn.

"Sam and I will be swapping on lookout. Your job is to..."

"Dig," Shawn said, rolling his eyes. Then added with a sly smile, "And look good."

Dean shot him a sideways look. "No, that's my job."

Shawn pouted.

"And no being emo either. That's Sam's job. All we have left is comic relief."

Shawn grinned. "I can do that."

Sam and Dean both chuckled.

"Yeah," Dean said, "I'm sure you can. If Sam or I say 'duck' or 'down' or anything like that you..."

"Drop it like it's hot." Shawn put actions to words and dipped down into a near squat before bobbing back up.

"Smart ass."

"Hey," Shawn said, spreading his arms wide, "just doing my job."

Sam laughed and Shawn pointed at him. "And doing it well, obviously."

Dean and Sam both chuckled.

A few more reminders and questions and they arrived at the grave. Dean set down the gas and got a comfortable grip on his shotgun as the other two set down their shotguns and got comfortable grips on their shovels.

"Start digging," Sam said and buried the blade of his shovel in the ground. Shawn followed suit, grinning at the thought of being on an actual hunt.

This was so cool.

o.o

Couple of hours later, eye-level with the lip of the grave when he was standing up straight, covered in dirt and sore already, Shawn was not having as much fun. Hadn't been for a while actually. But he knew that if he said anything this would be the last hunt he was ever allowed to go on.

And he really wanted to see a leprechaun someday. So he kept his mouth shut and kept digging.

Dean was his current digging partner. Sam was sitting on the edge of the grave, shotgun across his lap, eyes scanning the cemetery and watching them.

Since he wasn't using all of his oxygen to supply his hard-working muscles, he'd been designated storyteller.

"We got it in the end. But Dean got fourteen stitches in his leg and I had a sprained wrist. Dad had seven stitches across his chest and, what? Ten on his shoulder?"

"Twelve," Dean corrected, pausing to wipe sweat from his forehead. "And six on the other side."

"Oh right I forgot about—" Sam stopped and frowned. He pushed to his feet, settling his grip on the gun.

Dean looked up, slowing in his efforts. "We got company?" he asked. Shawn paused, standing on his tiptoes to get a better look around them.

"You feel that?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Temperature's dropping." He looked at Shawn. "Keep digging."

Shawn nodded, feeling his pulse kick up. He'd noticed the chill, but figured it was a breeze or something since the other two hadn't mentioned it right away.

They kept going and another few scoops of dirt up top had their shovels hitting something solid.

Dean set his aside and Shawn followed suit, both of them crouching down to push the dirt aside with their hands to reveal a smooth white coffin lid.

Dean looked up at Shawn, meeting his gaze with a grin. "Yahtzee."

Just then a deafening boom overhead had Shawn ducking for cover.

"What the hell?" he demanded, looking up to see Sam staring over the grave, smoke rising from the end of the shotgun.

"Company's arrived and they're not pleased," Dean said. "Keep going."

They took up their shovels again and got back to work, clearing enough of the dirt away so they could open the casket and do so without dumping a bunch of fire-smothering damp earth inside.

Finally—_finally_—Dean called it good and tossed his shovel up, Shawn doing the same. Dean cracked the upper lid of the casket and Shawn winced at the smell that was released. Not as powerful as it could be with the embalming and everything, but that didn't completely stop the decomposition, just slowed it down.

"That is so completely disgusting."

"That is so completely not the worst we've ever seen by a long shot. Get that side open," Dean ordered and reached a hand up.

Sam had fired and reloaded a few more times while they worked but he was able to extend a hand down to help Dean out. Shawn turned to get the same assistance when an unearthly screech rent the air and a gust of wind blew the Winchesters back a few steps.

Dean lowered his arm and scowled. "Bitch," he uttered, then stepped back to the grave.

His eyes widened at the sight. "Oh shit! Shawn!"

Sam coughed and wiped at his eyes where they'd gotten dirt in them. He forced them open at Dean's cry.

"Oh shit!" he repeated when he realized why.

Nurse Ratchet's angry gust of wind had dumped a goodly portion of the dirt pile they'd dug out back into her grave.

Right on Shawn's head.

* * *

Next update will be Wednesday. LET THERE BE WHUMP. (You guys'll forgive cliffie now, right? :D)

Review, plz&thx.


	6. Chapter 5

GAH! SORRY! YESTERDAY WAS UNEXPECTEDLY BUSY.

To make up for my unintended cruelty I am giving y'all an extra long chapter.

As a special bonus, this chapter is the reason we're all here. Yup. LOTS of whump ahead for Shawn and some for Dean and Sam too. (Plus squishy!Sam and guilty!Dean! YAYZ! *yayhands*) :D

Oh, also... Dean will never be able to take over Shawn's job as fake Psychic for the SBPD. That or he isn't as good at poker as he thought. Either way he needs to start taking Phoebe (PADavis) with him. She caught something in the last chapter that me and my betas—not to mention Sam and Dean—all missed: Shawn was cheating at poker. So the hand was re-dealt. He still won. :D

* * *

Shawn had expected a lot of things when he asked to come on this little trip. Being buried alive wasn't one of them.

And that was kind of ironic, considering what they were doing really.

He hadn't had much warning—or, actually, none at all—when the pile of dirt hit him, driving him to his knees and then down into a curled up position.

The good news was that because of the way he'd landed there was a pocket of air under his chest that he could draw on. That was fantastic news actually since Shawn had no desire to personally test whether or not dirt was breathable. He was very willing to trust science and the experience of others on that one.

The bad news was that it really wasn't that big of a pocket and it was really dark in here and this was kind of an uncomfortable position and the lower lid of the coffin had been knocked down and was now pressing in on his calf in a very uncomfortable way—accompanied by sharp shooting pains that jumped up and down his nerves—and his left knee was being pushed into what used to be some lady's abdomen which was almost worse than his right leg because it didn't hurt but it was disgusting and, OH YES. HE'D BEEN BURIED ALIVE.

He just really hoped Dean and Sam hadn't been somehow incapacitated by the ghost or whatever. And that they figured out where he was before his little pocket of air ran out. And that he didn't puke from either the pain or the gooey sensation under his knee because having to breathe in the smell of puke along with everything else might actually be worse than not being able to breathe at all.

He didn't even know how much of the dirt had fallen in.

The other bad news was that, being in this position, he wasn't really able to dig himself out. Not without demolishing his air pocket.

He wasn't quite ready for that step yet. He was quite fond of the little air pocket. It was a nice little air pocket. Kind of small, but still... nice.

The dirt to his left shifted a little, in a sort of downward direction, and sparked unpleasant thoughts about more dirt falling in. Crushed or suffocated. Neither one were really on his list of ways to get out of this life. Well, maybe the crushing, but only if it was a helluva lot faster and, like, fifty years from now.

The dirt on his right shifted downward too and he couldn't quite suppress a whimper.

This week just wasn't good for him to die. He had way too many others items on his list of things to do before he got to that one.

Like kiss Juliet. He'd never kissed Juliet and that was probably something he should do soon if he was going to keep hanging out with the Winchesters.

He wondered if he should, like, try calling for help, but surely they knew where he was. And that would waste air, right?

Speaking of air, was it just him or was it getting harder to breathe?

He didn't think it was just him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to control his breathing, focusing on it. He just had to keep calm. Dean and Sam had to know where he was.

They were already digging down to him. They were. He just had to hold on a little longer...

o.o

Dean jumped down and began digging with his hands, afraid to use a shovel and hit Shawn. Sam fired off another shot at the mist coalescing, reloaded, then jumped down on the other side. Shawn had been standing in the middle and the dirt had come straight in so it was unlikely he'd been pushed to either side. Hopefully.

Dean was cursing up a storm the whole time, but Sam just put his efforts into working harder and faster and silently praying that Shawn hadn't hit his head or aspirated any dirt or anything.

Dean was right. They never should have brought Shawn along. If anything happened to him—

Sam pushed that thought aside and dug faster.

o.o

Shawn's breathing was far too shallow for his liking, but somehow he just couldn't bring any more air in. It was like trying to breathe in jello.

Jello was not easy to breathe. Not at all. And this jello tasted like dirt and dead person with a hint of formaldehyde. Ewwwwww.

Who made jello like that? Seriously.

He was pretty sure if it wasn't so damn dark he'd be seeing spots in front of his eyes. What he wasn't at all sure of was if he was glad that he couldn't see that or not.

Where the hell were Sam and Dean? Had they been knocked out or something? Did they think he'd gotten out?

He swallowed and gritted his teeth, ignoring the disgusting taste and feel of dirt in his mouth.

"Come... on... guys," he forced out between shallow, labored breaths. "Save... the... rookie's... ass... already..."

The effort of speaking suddenly weighed on him. He let his eyes drift shut, his chest jerking as it tried to pull in air and mostly failed. He briefly wondered what they would tell his dad about how he died as his thoughts drifted into darkness...

And then he felt movement on his back. He jerked at the touch of something scraping over his shirt, forcing his eyes open.

"Shawn!" It was muffled, but he was pretty damn sure that was Sam calling his name.

"Shawn!" That was Dean. That was so Dean. "Hang on, Shawn! Almost there!"

Yay! Sam and Dean were here.

Maybe they could help him. He was having some trouble breathing. Couldn't remember why though...

More movement at his sides and then near his neck and then fresh, cool air rushed in and he coughed and choked and inhaled deeply, getting a head rush from the influx of oxygen.

He was much more aware of the hands scrabbling to clear away the dirt and then his head was free and he lifted it up with a snap, still gasping and coughing on the air now freely available to him in very large quantities.

He never realized just how awesome the sky was, the way it was really, really far away. And all that air between him and it? That was pretty awesome too.

Hands on his arms dragged him up and then he was being draped over a shoulder on the right and— HOLY SHIT, HIS LEG.

"Gahhh!" he cried out as the pain lanced through his calf, throbbing and arcing like lightning trapped inside the muscles.

"Hold on, Sammy, he's caught."

He continued to pant as they waited for Dean to dig him out the rest of the way, his head tilted back and eyes glued to the stars.

Damn those little balls of gas burning billions of miles away were pretty. All sparkly and stuff. He loved stars.

And air. And Sam and Dean. They were awesome. Digging like that. Like mole men. Tunneling through the evil dirt that tried to kill him.

Shawn didn't like dirt. Nooooo, he didn't like dirt at all. Or dead people. Or ghosts of dead people.

Definitely didn't like ghosts of dead people.

Dean finally freed his leg and popped up at his side and then he was hopping out of the grave and Sam was passing him off to Dean and WHEE!

He totally flew right there. That was pretty cool. Gus would be jealous.

The ground was cold under his back, but he didn't really care since it had been getting kind of warm in there, that little air pocket of his, and the cool felt nice.

The stars were blocked out as Sam and Dean leaned over him, checking him for injuries.

He felt the euphoria and slight punchiness from the lack of air—and then the return of air—start to fade and he blinked at Dean.

"Shawn? How you feeling, dude?"

Shawn opened his mouth to answer when Sam cursed and reeled back, firing off the shotgun.

Shawn flinched and tried to roll away and that reminded him about his leg.

"Ow! Dammit. OwowowowowowOW!" He hissed and gripped at his thigh, not willing to risk the pain of lifting his leg just so he could get a better grip closer to the wound.

"Yeah, that's going to leave a mark," Dean said. "It got caught in the lid. Shouldn't need stitches though. Anywhere else feel like it's about to fall off? Or that you wish would fall off?"

Shawn shook his head. "No. I think that's the worst. My head kind of hurts from hitting the edge of the coffin, but not as bad."

Dean flicked on one of the flashlights and examined the spot, but it wasn't bleeding. It would be a lovely sunrise on his forehead about the time the sky was doing the same, but no blood and his pupils were reacting normally so it looked like he'd escaped a concussion.

If this was as bad as it got, Dean would consider them all very lucky.

Especially since now they had to dig the damn grave back out. He helped Shawn sit up.

"How do you feel about taking a turn on watch?" he asked the other man.

"What?" Shawn said, gingerly touching his head and confirming the lack of blood.

"Sam and I need to dig the bitch back up and I don't think you really want to get back down there."

"Uh, not so much, yeah."

Dean handed him a shotgun and wrapped his fingers around it. "Shoot anything that moves and isn't me or Sam."

Shawn nodded, wincing, as he found a more comfortable position.

Sam set his shotgun down and joined Dean in the hole, the two of them putting all they had into working as fast as possible. The soil wasn't packed like before so it did go faster, but they had the better part of the grave to empty again so it would still take a while.

Shawn let his eyes scan the graveyard, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing happened for a few minutes, then a flash of movement caught his eye.

A very unhappy woman dressed in a floral print dress—one that Shawn had seen not too long ago in the coffin Dean and Sam were uncovering again—glared at him from across the grave. She wasn't entirely opaque and when she took a step forward her image jumped and skittered, like a bad picture on the TV. Oh and her 'step' covered about fifteen feet.

Yeah, that pretty much fit the description of ghosts as far as Shawn was concerned. Whaddya know? Hollywood wasn't as full of idiots as some people thought.

He raised the shotgun, lips pressed together as he took aim, and pulled the trigger. She vanished and the wind that had been rising calmed again.

Shawn kept scanning the land around him. Seeing a flicker to his right he turned and fired again. She disappeared and Shawn realized that sitting down was not conducive to keeping a watch in all directions.

So, with the help of a nearby headstone, he pushed up to his feet, grunting at the pain of his leg as he put light pressure on it.

"Owowowowowieowow— Son of a _bitch_," he cursed.

"You okay?" Dean called, both he and Sam popping up like whack-a-moles to check on him.

"Yeah," Shawn said shortly. "Keep going."

Sam snorted as Dean frowned, but they both resumed digging.

They finished as Shawn used up most of his pockets' worth of ammo keeping their unfriendly nurse at bay.

Dean, then Sam, climbed out, this time without incident, and they set to work quickly dousing her in salt and gasoline.

Dean pulled out the matchbook and prepared to light one when another unearthly howl sounded and a blast of wind hit them all, more powerful than the last time, sending them tumbling away from the grave.

She might be dead, but she wasn't going down without a fight.

o.o

Sam flew until he hit a tree, the air leaving his chest in a painful whoosh. He coughed and hacked as he tried to figure out how these lung things worked again, looking around for his brother and Shawn.

Dean had hit a tombstone mid-flight, opening a gash on his arm where the sharp corner caught him before he continued rolling over the ground for a few feet. But he was pushing to his hands and knees even as Sam watched, so he wasn't doing that bad.

Shawn was... Sam groaned.

Shit. Shawn was lying next to the cemetery's fence. On the other side. Unmoving.

Dean was going to say, 'I told you so' and Sam wasn't even going to stop him. He so deserved it.

Pushing to his feet and wincing at the pain in his shoulder—which felt like it had come real close to dislocation—Sam met Dean's eyes and hurried over to Shawn.

Dean was cursing as he limped their direction.

"I got him, Dean!" Sam shouted over the rising wind. "Get her!"

Dean slowed, glancing at Shawn, then cursed and turned back to the grave at a quick, if uneven, trot. He scooped up a shotgun along the way and fired a round at the flickering form standing between him and the open pit.

The wind died briefly, but started to rise again.

She was getting pissed and the salt wasn't keeping her down as long. They needed to end this. Now.

Stepping over the fence and dropping to his knees by Shawn's side as another shotgun blast split the night air, Sam focused on Shawn, digging his small flashlight out of a pocket and shining it on the downed man.

Bright red on the side of Shawn's head was blood from a gash near his temple. Sam's eyes flicked to the spiked tips of the fence that bore a similar red tinge. Yeah, that wasn't good, he thought as he ripped the bottom of his over-shirt off to use for a pressure bandage.

His eyes were unevenly dilated and that wasn't good either, but they reacted to light, even if it was a bit sluggishly. Nothing else looked particularly wrong, no limbs bent the wrong angle or in the wrong places, no spreading red spots on his chest or limbs. He'd be one big bruise for sure, but they might have gotten off lucky, relatively speaking.

"Shawn?" he said, patting the other man's cheeks. "Come on. Wake up."

Shawn moaned softly as the telltale FWOOMP of a lot of gas going up sounded behind Sam. They both winced at the final shriek of fury and then the winds died once more, this time for good.

The whole place seemed unnaturally quiet after the noise of the ghost.

Dean's footsteps on the asphalt drew closer until he joined them, stepping over the fence and crouching wearily on Shawn's other side. "How is he?" he asked.

Sam sat back on his heels. "Looks like a mild concussion. He hit his head on the fence as he came over. Doesn't look like it's fractured, just bleeding like head wounds do."

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. "Ooh, that's gotta hurt."

"Yeah. Also the laceration on his leg from the casket, the non-concussion-causing knock to the front of his head, and a whole helluva lotta bruising, but that's about it I think."

Dean winced as Shawn blinked his eyes open.

"D'we get her?" he mumbled.

"Yeah," Dean said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "We got her. How you feeling, dude?"

Shawn rolled to the side and puked. Sam winced.

"Yeah," Dean said. "I know what you mean. So you still believe ghosts don't exist?"

Shawn cracked one eye to stare at Dean, then lifted a single finger.

Dean brought up his hands in surrender. "Dude, I'm only going to point this out once since you're hurt, but... you were the one that asked to come."

Shawn let his eyes close and leaned back against the fence. "Yeah, next time I do that just throw me in front of a Mack truck. Save us all some time."

The brothers laughed and then each took an arm and helped Shawn to his feet.

It was when Dean put a hand on Shawn's back to steady him—and got a flinch from Shawn while finding it wet and sticky back there—that they discovered how thoroughly the shit had hit the fan.

"What the hell?" Dean said and pulled free, leaving Shawn's weight with Sam. He pulled out his flashlight and flicked it on, cursing again at the sight of Shawn's back.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Dean didn't say anything, just turned and looked at the fence, flashlight beam jumping from spike to spike.

And then he found it, covered in red and shining in the beam's light.

Sam had turned enough to see it too and now he paled.

"Oh shit." How had he missed that?

"Guys?" Shawn said, lifting his head. "Sum'thin' wrong?"

Dean took another look at Shawn's back, then looked at Sam.

"Forget filling the damn thing in. I'll grab the stuff and go get the car." There was a road that ran parallel to the cemetery on this side and even though the entrance where the car was parked was on the far side of the cemetery, it would be a whole lot faster—not to mention easier for Shawn—if they waited here for Dean to come to them. Especially since that wouldn't require going back over the fence.

Sam nodded and began to gently ease Shawn down to his stomach on the grassy verge.

"Sam?" Shawn said, sounding more coherent and definitely more alarmed.

"It's okay, Shawn. It's going to be just fine." The sound of ripping cloth preceded a cool breeze across Shawn's back and he shivered.

"Dude, that is so not reassur— Aughhh!"

Sam had no idea how Shawn had been unaware of the gash that crossed his lower back before, but when he placed his over shirt on the seeping wound and pressed down Shawn's awareness definitely changed to include it.

"Stop," Shawn croaked. "Sam... hurts... dude, STOP!"

"Sorry, Shawn," Sam said, using his superior strength to pin the other man in place. "I need to keep pressure on it."

"Oh ow. Oh dammit OW. Oh dammitdammit— SAAAAM, THAT HURTS!"

Sam glanced up to check on Dean who was limping, but making good time across the cemetery. It helped that he was ignoring the paths and going for the exit as the crow flies.

"You're going to be fine, Shawn," Sam said, eyes locked on his brother's back until it faded into the darkness. He kept watching that spot as Shawn continued to curse up a storm, waiting for the— There! The lights of the Impala blinked into existence, heading forward for a brief bit until they vanished and were replaced by the taillights.

Once the two had swapped positions, they moved forward at a not inconsiderable speed.

They were blocked occasionally by the trees and tombstones of the graveyard, but not so much that Sam couldn't keep track of the progress as they raced along the one side of the memorial grounds, then swung onto the road he was crouched next to.

Dean came to a brake-testing stop next to them and jumped out, heading immediately for the trunk and the good first aid kit.

"How's he doing?" Dean asked, then repeated the question when Sam started digging in the supplies. "How're you doing, Shawn?"

"Your brother is a sadist," Shawn mumbled into the grass. "I blame you. Get him some therapy already, dude."

Dean's lips quirked briefly upward, then he rested a hand on Shawn's shoulder, squeezing lightly to distract Shawn as Sam set about putting the temporary measures into place until they could get him to a hospital. He winced when Sam shined a light on the messily ripped flesh.

Yeah, definitely a hospital. Dean wasn't positive but that looked like something that could be classified as an internal organ peeking through there. So not good. Shit.

"I tried, dude," he said to Shawn, schooling his face as he leaned down slightly. "Guy asked him to draw pictures of his childhood and he set the poor bastard on fire."

Shawn grunted. "You lie. That was you. I know how you feel about fire."

A laugh was forced out as Dean met Sam's eyes, the bottle of holy water raised along with Sam's eyebrows. It wasn't the holy part of the water that was important right this moment, though Dean supposed that couldn't hurt. They just needed to rinse out the wound and moisten the bottom layers of gauze that would be covering the deep parts.

Dean nodded at Sam, then gripped Shawn's hand and said, "Shawn, brace yourself, buddy."

"What do you mean brAUUUUUGGHHHHH!" Shawn's fingers tightened on Dean's until the latter was sure something was going to snap. Probably in him.

He just gritted his teeth and held on as Shawn's other fist pounded the grass and curses issued in a steady stream from between teeth clenched tightly enough to cause pain in and of themselves.

But compared to the fire along Shawn's back, that was nothing. Holy _hell_ that hurt.

Dean kept up the nursemaid duties, repeating meaningless platitudes that helped only in that they gave Shawn something to focus on while Sam, bastard that he was, applied the moist dressings—WITH MORE PRESSUREDAMNFUCKSHITHELLDAMN—topped them with dry, and secured them all in place with most of a roll of medical tape.

When he was done Shawn was panting and whimpering just a little and Dean wasn't even going to tease him about it. Guy was mildly concussed and just about cut in half. That deserved an unchallenged whimper or two.

Sam made quick work of a gauze pad and some tape on the calf injury, but that wasn't a major concern right now, especially since it wasn't leaking blood the way the back injury was. The head wound was still seeping and it too got several layers of gauze and some tape. That would have to do until they got to a hospital.

"Sam, pillows, backseat," Dean ordered as he stayed with Shawn, one hand on his shoulder to maintain touch and remind the other man he was still there. "Blankets, too."

Sam nodded and headed for the car, yanking the back door open and half diving in.

"Easy, Shawn," Dean soothed. "We're going to get you to a hospital so they can give you the good drugs."

"You're not gonna stitch me up?"

Dean laughed quietly. "No, dude, I think we'll let a hot nurse handle this one with lots and lots of drugs. My way of saying I'm sorry."

Shawn blinked his eyes open, but didn't move his head. "Not your fault."

Dean looked away, under the pretense of checking on Sam. "Whatever."

"S'not," Shawn repeated.

"Ready," Sam said, returning to join them.

"We'll discuss it later, Shawn," Dean said, grateful for the reprieve.

The two of them carefully levered Shawn up and into the backseat. He was carefully turned on his side so his stomach faced the back of the seat, his head settled on the pillows at the one end and his feet and lower legs bent in at the other end. It was the only way to fit him and while it wasn't ideal, it would have to do.

They were too far away to call an ambulance. Dean wasn't about to trust them to make it in time.

Besides, Shawn's record was still fairly clean. He'd like to keep it that way and being found at the site of a desecrated grave was not exactly a good thing.

He was tucked in tightly with several blankets liberated from hotel rooms in the past and Sam started to climb in with him to brace him. Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

Sam was handed the keys and the surprise was clear on his face as he took them.

"I got a little shaken up when that bitch tossed us," Dean said, but he wasn't looking Sam in the eye. "My vision's," he waved a hand in front of his face, "kinda blurry."

Sam did nothing but nod and climb into the driver's seat while Dean slipped in back with Shawn, perching on the edge of the seat but mostly supporting his weight on a bent knee.

Dean had been known to drive when he was barely conscious and so concussed that he kept asking if they should take the right or the left fork on a highway so straight it had to have been laid down with a laser sight.

Sam was pretty sure this was less about Dean not feeling up to driving, and more about needing to keep an eye on Shawn and make sure he stayed awake until they got to the hospital. Dean's guilt was in charge right now and he was shouldering every last ounce of responsibility he could find or make.

Usually Sam was far too out of it to really be aware of this kind of behavior, because usually it only came out when Sam was in Shawn's position.

It was... intriguing, Sam decided as he put the car into gear and gave the accelerator a healthy push towards the floor. Kind of sad, Sam acknowledged, glancing in the rearview mirror at his brother's too blank face. He was bent down and murmuring softly to Shawn and that was the only reason Sam could safely spy on him.

Yeah, it was sad, but mostly intriguing and maybe a little heart-warming.

Sam's lips quirked up briefly. Dean would say he was being a big emo girl if he could have heard those thoughts.

He'd probably be right. Wouldn't make them any less true though.

* * *

Next chapter should be Sunday. I hope. Cross your fingers. x-_-x


	7. Chapter 6

They pulled up outside the hospital in Sioux City and Sam dashed inside to get help while Dean stayed outside with Shawn.

"Just a little longer, dude," he said crouching outside of Shawn's door so he was closer to eye level. "You doing okay?"

"Dean?" Shawn said, muffled as it was by the pillows he was laying on.

"Yeah?"

"Are you petting me?"

Dean scowled and pulled his hand back from where it had been carding through Shawn's hair, an unconscious habit dating back to the days when Sam was still smaller than Dean—one that had never quite died out and that, apparently, extended to Shawn as well.

"No. I was checking for more bumps. Dude. Seriously. I don't pet guys."

"It's okay," Shawn mumbled. "I know. My hair is awesome. Just don't let the nurses see or they'll get the wrong idea. I know how sensitive you are about that."

Dean chuckled, then glanced over at the door. Sam was returning with hospital staff. Time for him to make himself scarce since he was the one who kept getting his handsome mug plastered on the evening news in conjunction with really big crimes. Bringing a severely injured police consultant to the hospital without much of a good explanation for his injuries wouldn't look good for him, even if the police Shawn consulted with were from across the country.

"I'll see you soon, Shawn," he said and straightened, melting back into the shadows at the side of the building to watch.

Shawn was given a cursory exam for triage and assessment, then carefully eased out of the car and onto a gurney.

Sam glanced at Dean, though the latter knew he couldn't be seen, and nodded, then headed inside to fill out the paperwork and wait for information.

Dean waited until the doors had closed completely behind his brother before coming out into the sodium vapor light from the building's exterior lamps and climbing into the still running car.

He wiped a hand over his face, then shifted into gear and pulled away.

Time to find someplace with a booth and a coffee pot that stayed hot all night long.

o.o

Sam followed the gurney until a nurse with a small but firm hand stopped him at the swinging doors common to emergency rooms everywhere. He glanced down at her, noted that she was half his size—if not smaller—but with a forbidding stare to rival Dean's at his most obstinate, and decided not to press his luck.

"Your brother is in good hands, Mr. Spencer. If you'll return to the waiting room and fill out these forms, someone will be out to speak with you as soon as they have information."

Sam nodded and accepted the clipboard, then turned around, scanning the sheets as he headed back to his least favorite part of hospitals.

He called Dean for some of the information, not knowing as much about Shawn as his brother did. And because it gave him a chance to touch base with his brother and reassure him that there was no bad news. Yet.

"Where are you?"

_"I had to go out to the highway to find one of those froufy coffee/Internet places you like that stays open late. Shit's expensive, but if you leave out all the crap it's coffee... ish. It's fairly close anyway."_

Sam smiled. "Somehow I think you'll survive," he said dryly. The doors opening caught his attention—along with everyone else's in the room but the doctor was the one that had been heading back at Shawn's side and Sam stood.

"Doctor's here. Gotta go. I'll call back soon," Sam said and snapped the phone shut. Dean would understand not waiting for a goodbye. Four long strides crossed the distance to where the physician was waiting.

"How is he?" Sam asked before he'd even stopped.

The doctor smiled and Sam relaxed before the words even left the man's mouth.

"He'll be fine, Mr. Spencer. Even a fraction of an inch deeper and it could have punctured the intestines and caused some serious issues; an inch and it would have severed his spine. But neither of those happened. He's very lucky. And your first aid helped keep the wound fairly clean so I'm not expecting any complications from infection. He's being stitched up and patched as we speak and then he'll be transferred to a room. I'd like to do a CT scan just to make sure the concussion isn't anything more than mild and annoying, but that will have to wait for the other injuries to be taken care of. Because of the location and depth of the injury to his back and the slight possibility of infection, not to mention the concussion, I'd like to keep him here overnight just to watch him, but after that he should be able to go home. He'll need to take it very easy for a week and then gradually work up to resuming his normal routine." The doctor's smile widened. "You're going to have your hands full with both your brother and your uncle laid up."

Sam returned the grin, just glad to hear Shawn would be okay. "My other brother will be there to help. Thank you, Doctor."

"My pleasure, young man. Just do me a favor? Try to be more careful. I really don't want to see you in here again this week, all right?"

Sam ducked his head. "I think we'll stick to watching movies for now."

"Wise choice. I'll have the nurse get the information on where your brother's being transferred for you."

"Thanks," Sam said. His pace was much slower as he returned to his seat, the adrenaline rush and worry fading now that the crisis was over with. Sinking into the seat Sam ran his fingers through his hair, wincing at the graininess that inevitably followed a night of throwing dirt over your head.

Then he pulled out his phone and redialed Dean's number.

_"How is he?"_

"Good. They're stitching him up now, then they're going to give him a CT scan to make sure his skull's as thick as we think it is and put him in a room. Overnight observation," Sam added before Dean could ask. "We can take him home tomorrow if nothing bad shows up on the scan."

Dean exhaled his thanks.

"Yeah," Sam said. He decided not to mention what the doctor said about how close it had come to being really bad.

_"Remind me to call Juliet tomorrow and let her know what's going on. She may have to make excuses for his extended absence."_

"Okay."

_"How soon are they putting him in a room you said?"_

"Doc didn't say exactly. I'll let you know though. Security seems pretty relaxed," Sam added, watching the one security guard he'd seen so far stroll leisurely past the admitting desk, flirting with the nurse there. "Shouldn't be too much of a problem getting you in and it sounds like it'll just be a regular ward so there shouldn't be a sign in required."

_"Okay. I'm going to gas up and then head over there."_

"All right. See you soon."

Sam ended the call and then let his head fall to rest on his hands for a moment.

Dean had been right. Really, really right. Shawn should never have been involved in the hunt.

And as far as Sam was concerned, he wouldn't ever be again.

* * *

I have bad news. I'm going to be out of town for the next week so I won't be able to publish on Wednesday or Sunday. Which means the next update will be the following Wednesday, hopefully. The... 20th it looks like.

*wince* Sorry. And this chapter is kinda cliffish too.

I feel bad about that, but, well, I won't have internet access so... Sorry!

If you don't completely hate me, I'd appreciate a review. If you do... well, I understand.


	8. Chapter 7

I'M BAAAAAA-AAAACK!

Not sure if it makes up for the wait in length alone, but it's full of BFFness and boys bonding so maybe it'll do.

* * *

Dean gave a glance around the hallway and then ducked into the room bearing the number Sam had relayed. Inside he found Shawn laid out on his belly, asleep from the sound of the soft snores, and Sam slouched uncomfortably in a too small chair next to the bed. Sam straightened when he entered, wiping a hand over his face and shaking himself.

"You talked to him yet?" Dean asked, performing his own visual exam of his friend. He didn't look bad, but then the worst injuries were currently covered up by clothing and blankets. His forehead was blooming as expected with the brilliant colors of a hefty bruise and several stitches marked the gash near his hairline on his temple.

He was pale, especially given his Californian-sun-induced shading. But he wasn't on oxygen or a heart monitor, so that was good.

Sam shook his head. "Not really. He was asleep when they brought him back, but the doctor said that his scan looked good so they're not worried. They figure if he's going to sleep through the pain then it's probably for the best."

Dean nodded and then gave Sam a critical look-over.

"Dude, why don't you head back to Bobby's? You look like shit."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, because you look much better." Then he frowned. "Didn't you cut your arm?" he asked.

Dean looked down at his arm, then pulled back the sleeve of the over shirt to show the white bandages. "Just a cut," he said. "I patched it and changed clothes before I went in for coffee. Blood on your shirt tends to draw attention," he finished dryly.

Sam blinked tiredly, then shook his head. "You were wearing blue plaid before weren't you? Not solid maroon." He wiped a hand over his face. "Maybe I _should_ get some sleep."

"Yeah, dude. But first... Did you get checked out? You got thrown into a tree if I recall."

Sam waved it off. "Just bruises."

"Just bruises?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah, Dean, just bruises. I promise."

Dean stared for a moment longer, then decided Sam was too wiped to effectively lie—not that he generally managed to do so successfully anyway. He nodded. "Okay. Here," he said, tossing the keys across the bed. "Go get some sleep. I'll call you when I find out what time they're springing him."

Sam caught the keys, then returned the scrutinizing look. "Dean, you need sleep too."

"I'm fine. Someone has to stay with Shawn. Does he know the cover story?"

"He said he couldn't remember what happened. With the concussion they weren't all that surprised. Said it might come back or it might not." That would be impressive if it did, considering it never happened.

Dean nodded. "Close enough. Go, dude," he said, shooing his brother from the chair.

"Dean—" Sam protested, but he was rising and stepping aside.

"I'm fine, Sam. Go. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sam waited another moment while Dean stared at Shawn. When he looked back up with a, "Something I can help you with, Princess?" Sam sighed and turned to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, obviously annoyed, but he left.

Finally.

His footsteps faded and there was a beat of silence, then Shawn opened one eye. "Is he gone?"

"Yeah," Dean said, leaning forward and balancing his elbows on his knees. "How are you feeling?"

"Like dog crap in a brown paper bag on someone's porch. _After_ it's been lit on fire."

Dean laughed softly, his hands absently rubbing back and forth against each other. "Yeah. I can imagine. They didn't give you any drugs?"

"Locals for my back. They didn't want anything that would affect my responses with the head injury. But they're wearing off."

Dean reached for the call button. "You want me to get someone in here? I'm sure they can give you something now that they know you're not brain dead. Well, any more than usual."

"Hey, at least they can tell the difference when I go under the scanny thingy." Shawn winced and shifted to his side. "You gonna go hide in the bathroom? I thought you were trying to keep a low profile."

Dean nodded and pressed the button, standing at the same time.

"I am," he said, then went to the bathroom, slipping into the darkened room and hiding behind the door.

The nurse came in and Shawn asked for more painkillers. She said she'd go see what she could get for him and left. The silence was unbroken until she came back and shuffled quietly about, presumably administering something, then she asked if he needed anything else and left when he said no. Dean counted to five, then came out, peeking around the door.

"Thanks," Shawn said. He was still on his side, one arm draped over his stomach, the other tucked under his pillow.

"For what?" Dean said as he sat back down. "Almost getting you killed?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Dude, don't even go there."

Dean's look in response was sharp. "Why not? It's true. You almost died, tonight, Shawn. Twice," he said, holding up two fingers for emphasis.

"Yeah," Shawn said, his voice sharpening as well. "Key word there is _almost_. I didn't and that's because of you." After a second he added, "And Sam."

Dean snorted and slid down to a slouch in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes strayed to the wall to inspect the wallpaper. "You wouldn't have needed it if I hadn't given in to Sam's puppy dog eyes and let you come."

Now Shawn snorted. "Dude, he only did that because I blackmailed him."

"Ha!" Dean crowed, pointing a finger. "I knew it. What did you have on him?"

Shawn smiled smugly. "I can't say. That was the condition of the blackmail and he delivered."

Dean frowned, serious now. "Dude, if it concerns Sam—"

Shawn waved his hand. "Not that important. I wouldn't use it for blackmail. If it was like that, you'd already know."

Dean wasn't pleased with that response because it didn't answer his question, but he knew it was true and he was grateful that his trust in Shawn was not misplaced, so he didn't press. "I'll find out eventually, one way or another."

Shawn nodded once. "Probably. But not from me as long as Sam keeps shelling out for my silence."

They sat in silence for a moment and Dean thought Shawn might be falling asleep. His next words proved that assumption false.

"It's not your fault, Dean. Really."

Dean kept his eyes on an interesting stain on the sleeve of his shirt. He thought it might be blood, but the low lighting made it hard to tell. "Okay, Shawn."

"I'm serious, dude."

Now Dean looked up. "I know. I believe you."

"Liar."

"What? I do!"

"Dean," Shawn said dryly, "I lie to the cops for a living. You can't do that unless you can spot a lie yourself. But if it makes you feel better, we'll drop it."

"It's not—" Dean realized it was a losing battle and gave it up. "Whatever. So, you've scratched this itch, right? You're not going to be asking to come next time, right? Because I can guarantee you that, puppy dog eyes or not, you're not coming."

Shawn smiled. "Yeah, I think we can call this itch sufficiently scratched. And you can say it now."

"Say what?" Dean asked.

"I told you so."

Dean's brows drew together, then smoothed. "Oh. That. Nah. I'll be nice this time. Give you a freebie 'cause you got hurt."

Shawn huffed a laugh. "Yeah, okay."

Dean's lips curved on the one side. "Although..."

"Here it comes," Shawn said.

"I _did_ tell you so."

Shawn laughed. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist."

"Oh come on, dude, you thought it was fairies!"

"Actually, I said that I had no idea what it was. You were the one that suggested fairies. Anyway, that's less logical how?"

"Well first of all, the incidents weren't nearly close enough to any wooded areas. And they were aimed at specific people who don't exactly fit the usual guidelines for fey targets."

Shawn chuckled. "Only you could actually provide a logical defense in fairies versus ghosts."

"Not true. Sam could. And he'd probably get you charts and crap."

"That's right. The wanna-be lawyer."

"Yep," Dean said with a hint of pride. "He'd have witnesses. Reliable ones."

"Probably," Shawn agreed.

The silence was more comfortable when it descended this time.

Shawn broke it with another eye sliding open. "You just going to sit there and watch me sleep all night?"

Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe. You got a problem with that?"

The eye closed and Shawn snuggled down into the pillow more comfortably. "Nope. If it satisfies your need to bask in my awesomeness, then go right ahead. Just no touching, you perv."

Dean made a sound of indignant protest. "I'm the perv?"

The eye made a reappearance. "Yeah, dude, you are, Mr. Computers-were-invented-so-I-could-watch-porn."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Hey, porn is one thing. You're the one who likes to get all hands on, Mr. Lift-your-shirt-for-me-so-I-can-see-how-badly-you're-hurt." He snorted. "Like I can't see through that one."

"First of all, when I do ask—for purely medical reasons—you always do it. That says more about YOUR exhibitionist nature than it does about me. And second of all... if you'd stop getting thrown into things in ways that are likely to cause rib fractures I wouldn't have to ask."

"Because I ask for that, dude!"

"I'm inclined to think you do. Let's ask the things that do the throw— Oh wait. We can't. You killed them all. Way to eliminate witnesses, dude. Kudos on the evidence disposal, OJ."

"Whatever, man," Dean said, but he was more at ease than he had been when he walked in. If Shawn was able to banter with him like this—without the aid of mind-altering drugs—then he must not be that pissed, even if he had every right to be. They were okay.

And this would never happen again, so they'd stay that way.

"Go to sleep, Shawn," Dean said when he saw he was being watched. "You look like shit."

Shawn snorted, but got himself settled once more. "Said the pot to the kettle, 'Dude, did you know you're black?'"

Dean arched an eyebrow. "I'm as handsome as ever. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Uh huh. Because white gauze is what all the cool kids are wearing as an armlet these days."

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Your arm, dude. How many stitches did it take?"

Dean looked down, but he was pretty sure that you couldn't actually tell that he was injured. Which meant Shawn remembered from the graveyard when his sleeve had been soaked with blood. Damn. His memory just did not quit, did it?

Which meant there was no point in denying it, so he just shrugged the other arm. "Five. No biggie. I've had a lot worse."

Shawn shook his head slightly. "And you totally did them yourself, didn't you? That never stops being insane."

"Why pay some doctor a couple of hundred dollars to do something I can do myself for free? And I already know they'll be good stitches that don't scar much."

"One word for you: Drugs."

"Three words for you: Extra Strength Tylenol. The shit they give you leaves you woozy and all messed up. Can't reliably fire a gun with Demerol in your system."

Shawn grinned. "Sure you can. You just might shoot the clock because you think it's trying to make a run for it."

Dean returned the smile. "You see things move, huh?"

"Yeah. You?"

"It makes me woozy and shaky." Then he laughed. "It's truth serum for Sam. But then most things are. Kid is such a lightweight," he said with a roll of his eyes.

Shawn laughed. "Dean, _air_ is truth serum for Sam. Demerol probably doesn't affect him at all. He probably just figures that you'll blame it on the drugs and take pity on him and actually talk about things when he's high."

Dean snorted. "Wouldn't surprise me. The little bitch."

Shawn yawned and Dean sank further into the chair.

"Go to sleep, Shawn."

"Tell me a story?"

"No."

Shawn pouted. "But..."

"Fine. Once upon a time there was a boy named Shawn. He refused to stay home like a good little boy and got hurt and ended up in the hospital. And then he refused to shut the hell up and go to sleep, so he was smothered by his incredibly handsome and awesome friend, Dean. The end."

Shawn frowned. "Dude, remind me to never let you babysit my kids one day."

"I wouldn't anyway. I don't babysit."

Shawn snorted at the mental image that invoked. "Therapists across the country just sighed in disappointment and they don't even know why. Also, that's so not how fairy tales end. What happened to the 'happily ever after'?"

"And after Shawn stopped twitching, Dean was able to sit in peace and quiet. And he rode off in his awesome classic car, listening to the best music ever made, and lived happily ever after. THE. END."

Shawn pouted again. "You suck at stories."

"Yep. I do."

Shawn glared at Dean who stared right back, eyebrows high in question and challenge.

Shawn gave in and sighed dramatically. "Fine. I guess I'll just go to sleep if you're going to be boring."

Dean smirked. "Goodnight, Shawn."

"Night, Dean. And thanks again."

Dean blinked in surprise, but before he could say anything Shawn exhaled noisily and was asleep.

Dean watched him for a few moments, trying—once again—to figure out the conundrum that was Shawn Spencer, then—like always—gave up and settled in to doze while he waited for morning.

* * *

Review, plz & thx.


	9. Chapter 8

He wasn't sure what woke him at first, but then he heard a repeat of the sound—half pained grunt/half terrified whimper—and his Big Brother senses identified it immediately: Nightmare.

He opened his eyes expecting to see Sam— And stopped cold for just a moment when he saw Shawn instead.

Then Shawn twitched, making another of those sounds, and he reached forward and laid a hand on the nearer shoulder.

"Shawn." A snuffled murmur and a shift of the head, but no opening eyes.

Shawn's face scrunched up and his breathing increased in pace. "No," he breathed out. Dean stood up and closed the distance to Shawn's bedside.

"Shawn," Dean said calmly, but with more volume and a touch of command. He added a gentle nudge to the shoulder he was still touching, just enough to jostle Shawn past the threshold of sleep.

Shawn gasped and his eyes flew open. They darted around a bit, taking things in, then locked onto Dean's face. The muscles under Dean's hand relaxed.

"Dean?" he said groggily.

"Yeah, dude. You were, uh, getting a little twitchy there. Figured I'd stop you before you embarrassed yourself with that girly scream of yours."

Shawn brought a hand up to wipe over his face as he tried to roll onto his side, but between the very strident protests of his lower back and Dean's hand on his shoulder he stayed on his stomach.

"Ouchie," he said in a soft, pathetic little whimper.

Dean smiled. "Yeah, dude, you're going to be spending a lot of time face down for the next week I imagine."

"Or doped to the gills so I don't care," Shawn said, trying for another shift, but more slowly this time. He got there by letting Dean help him and breathing with intent.

"You want more drugs?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Shawn said. "If it's not too much trouble."

"This time of day? It's something for them to do."

Dean pressed the call button again, then went to hide while the nurse came and went.

Shawn already looked more relaxed when he returned and reclaimed his seat. Dean though he might even be falling back asleep.

"You said 'this time of day'. What time is it?"

Dean glanced at his watch. "Just past six-thirty. I've got probably another hour before they come around with breakfast and an exam."

Shawn made a face. "Oh that's going to be fun."

Dean grinned. "I bet."

"When's Sam getting back?"

"Visiting hours start at nine, so I'd guess about then. Unless I call and tell him to hold off."

"Mmmm," Shawn said, sounding sleepy.

Dean wasn't about to stop him from trying to get more rest so he didn't encourage the conversation. He could ask about the nightmare later if it looked like it was going to be an issue.

But he didn't want to get caught, so more sleep for him wouldn't be an option. He wished for a cup of coffee, but knew that going out to get one was too risky this time of day. Instead he settled himself in a mostly-comfortable-but-not-enough-to-fall-asleep position and kept watch while Shawn slipped back into slumber.

o.o

It was actually closer to eight before the nurse entered Shawn's room with breakfast on a cart. He stirred and watched her as she folded the bed's arm up and into place, then set the tray on top.

"Good morning, Mr. Spencer!" she said, perkily, grinning widely. "How are you feeling today?"

"Not too bad, you know, considering," he said, wincing as he tried to sit up. That was a bad idea according to his back so he gave up and stayed on his side. This was going to be fun, he thought, eying the tray.

"Well maybe once you can get home and into your own bed it won't be so bad," the nurse said, chipper enough to grate on even Shawn's nerves.

He hid it beneath a smile. "I hope so," he said, trying to figure out how he was going to eat. It was going to be messy however he decided.

"Did you want some help with this?" she asked, gesturing to his breakfast. She was still grinning.

"Ah... no. No, I think I'm okay." He'd rather wear half the food on his tray or have Dean help him and tease him the entire time than have to continue to resist the urge to strangle this girl.

"Okay, then! Just give me a beep if you change your mind!" she added, pointing to the call button. "I'll be back after breakfast to change your dressings and your doctor should be here about eight-forty-five."

"Okay! Thanks!" Shawn said, amping up his own smile to the point that it almost made him want to gag.

She had no clue she was being mocked.

"See you later, Mr. Spencer!" She backed the cart out of the room and moved on to her next victim, whistling cheerily.

When the whistle stopped and she could clearly be heard greeting the poor schmuck next door Dean made his reappearance, grinning.

"Damn. Tell me she at least had a nice face."

"Not _that_ nice," Shawn said, poking at the eggs on the plate. His left arm, the one underneath him, was too far down to be able to properly reach the tray. The right was high enough, being on top, but it was a really awkward angle and the first two attempts ended up with egg on the bed and none in his mouth.

He sighed.

"You want some help with that?" Dean asked, his grin downgraded to a half-smirk.

Shawn glared. "I don't suppose there's a mockery-free option?"

"I'm going to say no."

Shawn looked at breakfast, figured the odds that he'd be back at Bobby's before lunch, and sighed again. "Yeah, okay."

Whether it was guilt for putting Shawn in this position or something else, Dean actually didn't tease nearly as much as he could have. He did start the meal off with a shit eating grin, airplane noises, a swooping fork, and a command to, "Open the hangar door!" but that was about the worst.

Fortunately Shawn's drink came with a straw and the fruit cup he could manage on his own once it was moved to the bed where he could better stab the chunks and get them into his mouth. The toast left crumbs all over, but that would have happened no matter what since sitting up and leaning over the plate was a Very Bad Idea.

Shawn was glad when breakfast was over for both the taste—or lack thereof—as well as the fun of making a mess and being assisted.

Dean hid again when the nurse returned—still freaking whistling—and was just about to step out when she returned to perform the necessary dressing changes and clean up. That took longer than expected because she talked so damn much.

The doctor showed up ten minutes late—but still before the damn nurse was done with her work—and did his own exam and Q&A session.

Dean was beginning to get bored with the bathroom. It didn't even have any fun magazines left behind by past residents of the room.

And then, ten minutes into the session with the doc, Sam showed up. Thank goodness.

"How are you doing, Shawn?"

"He's doing very well, considering," the doctor answered for the other man.

There was a pause during which Dean was sure Sam was giving the doctor a look, then turning his gaze on Shawn and repeating the question with raised eyebrows.

"I'll survive," Shawn said. "Drugs are good though."

"I'm sure they are," Sam said, sounding quite amused. "When will he be allowed to leave?"

"Sometime this morning, assuming he's improved since last night."

"Can you be more specific?" Sam asked, annoyance clear in his tone.

"Not until I'm finished with my exam, no."

Dean rolled his eyes. Arrogant bastard.

Small unidentifiable sounds, rustling cloth, a few grunts and hisses from Shawn, and a question or two from the doc and finally—_finally_—the all clear was given.

"You're doing very well, Mr. Spencer. No infection that I can see and it appears the concussion has passed. You'll need to take it easy this week and then slowly work back into your normal routine. I'll be giving you something for the pain but do not assume that because it doesn't hurt you're free to do as you wish. Push too hard and you'll tear those stitches and be back in here. Do you understand?"

"Like a deaf Frenchman with a Swahili-interpreter at an Abba concert."

There was another pause—during which Dean had to press a fist to his mouth to stifle the laughter—then the doctor continued.

"Yes, well, I'll, uh, have the nurse start your release papers."

Footsteps retreated and just as Dean was headed for the door, Sam's head appeared.

"Dude, how long were you hiding in there?"

Dean shrugged his good shoulder and entered the room proper. "Since about, what?" he said, looking at Shawn. "Seven-forty-fiveish?"

"Give or take ten minutes," Shawn agreed.

Sam winced. "Ouch."

Dean shrugged again. "Coulda been worse. I coulda been in Shawn's place with Nurse Perky," he said, his inflection not even getting close to matching the annoyance factor of the real thing. "And I'm not talking about her nipples." He frowned. "I don't think."

"Nope," Shawn said. "She didn't even have that going for her."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm not sure you need to be spending any more time around Dean unsupervised. I think he's starting to rub off on you."

Shawn and Dean both arched an eyebrow. "Seriously?" they said in unison.

Sam bitchfaced while Dean and Shawn bumped fists. "Yeah, definitely rubbing off."

"Well, I'm going to go see about getting some coffee," Dean said, holding out a hand and wiggling his fingers in a 'gimme' motion. "I'll see you at the car as soon as they spring him."

Sam nodded and handed the keys over. "I'll call if it's going to be more than an hour."

Dean nodded and, with a quick glance to see if there was anyone in the hallway, left.

Sam took a seat in the chair and Shawn snorted in amusement.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Now I know what the Olympic torch feels like."

Sam blinked, then looked briefly guilty. "Shawn—"

Shawn cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it, Sam. No big deal. Besides, the torch is the coolest part of the Olympics. Except for the gymnastics and women's swimming competitions of course. Mmmm... leotards and swimsuits... Spandex is the best thing ever invented. For girls."

Sam's lips quirked up on one side as he shook his head. "Way too much time together."

* * *

Dude. I'm gonna have to post faster if I'm going to make it in by the deadline...

Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm such a meanie. Deal with it. :D

Review, plz&thx!


	10. Chapter 9

Posting early because I have a deadline to finish this by and if I don't then I won't! :D

* * *

"Shawn, it's almost twelve full hours of travel back to Santa Barbara."

"Yes it is, Dean."

He stuffed the last of his clothes in his bag and zipped it closed.

"Dude, your pain pills don't even let you stay awake that long."

Shawn smiled, amused. "I can sleep on the planes, dude." He glanced up, knowing Dean would be making a face of complete incredulity at that. "Just because _you_ can't relax on planes doesn't mean that no one can. I usually sleep on planes."

"That is just so wrong on so many levels," Dean muttered, shuddering.

Sam popped his head in the room. "What's going on?" he asked, brow furrowing as he took in Shawn's stuff piled on the bed, the bag he came with packed, the one full of the stuff he'd bought here well on the way to joining the rest of it.

"Dumbass here thinks he's ready to go home," Dean said, gesturing to Shawn.

Sam's frown deepened and he stepped into the room. "Shawn, the doctors recommended—"

Shawn shook his head. "I know what they recommended, Sam. But I can't stay here forever, dude. I feel fine."

He got twin looks of pure disbelief and a snort from Dean.

"Fine enough to travel," Shawn amended with a roll of his eyes. "I've already been gone almost two weeks, guys. I need to get back. Some of us have a job that we actually have to go to in order to keep."

A beat of silence and then Shawn shook himself while Sam and Dean laughed.

"Dude. Maybe I am still out of it. I can't believe that just came out of my mouth."

Dean's smile faded and he rubbed at the back of his neck. "Look, Shawn, I'm not saying you can't go back ever, but... Just give it another week."

"No, Dean. I stayed until the stitches came out. That was the deal when I came home from the hospital."

"But-" Dean started to protest.

"We're just—" Sam tried to say.

"Big girls? I know, Sam," Shawn said. "I've learned that lesson well. Although, you'd think for being girls you'd be able to cook better."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You know what, maybe it is time for him to go home."

Dean shot a look at his brother. "Sam! Dude, back me up here!"

"No," Sam said. "He's picking up way too many of your habits and mannerisms and ideas. Definitely time to go home. Can I help you pack?" he said, entering and coming over to the bed.

Dean made a sound of affront and looked quite betrayed while Shawn shook his head in amusement.

"I got it, dude, really. Thanks."

There was silence for a moment. "Can we at least... I dunno, drive you home?" Dean asked, not willing to concede defeat yet.

Shawn shook his head. "I'll be fine, Dean. And I'm pretty sure if twelve hours in airports is not supposed to be good for me then three days in a car would be even worse."

Sam got a mischievous smile on his face. "You could always fly with him," he suggested sweetly, looking at his brother. "If you're really that concerned."

Shawn snickered and Sam waited for the scowl and the admission of defeat. When it didn't come, both of them turned to look at Dean.

"Dude, you're not seriously considering—" Shawn started.

"Well, if you're going to be an asshat about it."

Sam's jaw dropped open.

"You... Wait, you'd seriously _fly_ with him?"

Dean's face looked like he'd just bitten into a pastry, expecting strawberry filling and finding shit instead.

"Dean, man, really, I'll be okay," Shawn said, completely serious.

"I know," Dean snapped. "It's just..."

Silence stretched, then Shawn picked up his bags and handed them to Sam. "Take these downstairs for me, will you, Sam?"

Sam looked between the two older men and then nodded, slinging one bag over his shoulder, carrying the other in his hand. "Yeah, okay."

Dean was looking at the floor, one shoulder propped on the door frame, and shifting minutely, looking about as stubbornly uncomfortable as a man could look in the presence of another man when both of them had all their clothes on.

Shawn was trying to find the right words when Dean spoke up.

"Look, I know you're... older than me and shit. And I'm not expecting anything to happen to you on the way. I just..."

"Have a guilt reservoir that puts the Grand Canyon to shame, I know, Dean." Shawn laughed. "In fact, you make Sam's look like freaking playground puddle, dude. In Arizona. In the summer. During a dry spell. With—"

Dean looked up from under his still lowered brow. "I got it, thanks." He relaxed a bit at Shawn's genuine smile.

"Dude, really, I'm fine. And it wasn't your fault anyway. I told you."

"It's just..." Dean trailed off, hating this major chick flick moment, but not quite able to walk away.

"You feel really freaking guilty. Dude, we covered that already. You didn't make me go. You tried to keep me away, in fact. And you didn't do anything wrong on the hunt, man. Crap happens. And I survived. No biggie."

Dean looked up again, his expression hardening. "No biggie?" he repeated, stalking into the room and stopping only a few inches away from Shawn. A muscle in his jaw ticked and his hands were flexing in and out of fists. Shawn arched an eyebrow at the display. "No _biggie_?"

"Yeah, Dean, no biggie."

"You almost _died_, Shawn. _Twice._"

"And we've had this conversation _twice_," Shawn said, his own expression cooling. "It's still not your fault."

Dean's nostrils flared as he struggled to breathe calmly and not haul off and punch Shawn in the jaw. Although, he couldn't get on his damn flight if he was unconscious...

"Look, Dean, I don't know how much clearer I can make this: I don't hold you responsible. I chose to go with you—tricked you, actually, into letting me go—despite the fact that you told me beforehand that I was pretty much guaranteed to come back hurt. And you and Sam both did your best to make sure I knew what to do. And we did it. And things went south. Unless I'm mistaken—and given this wasn't my first hunt, I'd say I'm probably not—this is just how it goes. What's rule number one of hunting?"

Dean was still breathing deliberately.

"Come on, Dean. What is it?"

"No. You don't get to do this. You don't get to—"

"What? Forgive you for something you didn't even do? Absolve you of guilt? I sure as hell do. If anyone does in this case, I do. Because _I_ am the one that almost died. And because _I_ am the one that has no experience on a hunt and because _I_ am the only one in the room right now who seems to understand that YOU ARE NOT PERFECT."

Dean blinked.

"What?"

"You're not, Dean."

"I know that, Shawn. I've never claimed—"

"Bull."

Dean blinked again.

"What?" he repeated.

"Well, no, that's not entirely true. You probably haven't said it out loud—except maybe to your many female companions. But that doesn't mean you don't scream with every drop of guilt you hoard away that you think you should be."

Dean took a half step back.

"I..."

"I don't know where you got this crazy idea that you're _supposed_ to be perfect, but guess what, Dean? You're human. As human as any of us. And honestly, dude, we like you that way. You're already hard enough to live with. I'm pretty sure Sam would have killed you in your sleep years ago if you were any more awesome."

Dean just blinked again.

Shawn watched him for a moment, then a half smile curved his lips. "Dean? Buddy? You still with me here?"

Dean blinked once more and shook his head. "Shawn..." he started but trailed off. What the hell was he supposed to say now? "I'm not perfect. I— I don't think that—"

"Yeah," Shawn said with a laugh, "you do. But it's okay. Usually it's endearing. Or," he added with a shrug, "at least amusing."

Another moment of Dean trying to regain his mental footing and Shawn took pity on him and slapped him on the shoulder. "Come on. My flight doesn't leave for, like, three hours. That's plenty of time to get lunch before you guys have to drop me off."

Dean stared at him for a moment, then nodded, composure suddenly and fully back in place. "Okay. Give me ten minutes to pack."

Shawn rolled his eyes and let his head fall back. "Oh come ON, Dean!"

Dean shook his head and strode to the door. "No arguments, Shawn."

"I'm over thirty, dude! I've been flying by myself for YEARS. Even my DAD lets me fly alone!"

"Yeah, well, it's not about you."

Shawn's stopped in the hallway outside Dean and Sam's room, head jerking back in surprise. "It's not? Since when?"

"I owe Juliet an apology. And my dad taught me to always do that kind of thing face to face."

Shawn's head tilted. "An apology for what?"

Dean continued gathering some clothes and rolling them up, stuffing them into his duffel. "I broke a promise to her."

Shawn's eyes narrowed and he entered the room. "What promise?"

Dean shrugged. "Just a promise."

"Dude, tell me you didn't promise her that you wouldn't let me get hurt."

Dean said nothing as he headed for the bathroom to gather his toiletries.

"Oh. My— _Seriously!_ THIRTY. I have been an adult for, like, a DECADE."

Dean half smiled as he came back in the room to finish packing. "Yeah, well, maybe if you acted like it—"

"Oh please. This from the guy whose sense of humor never evolved past the sixth grade?"

Dean straightened, pausing. "Dude," he said, sounding hurt. "I am so past sixth grade." Then he arched an eyebrow. "Unless you were telling the joke about the three blondes and the row boat when you were in sixth grade?"

Shawn blinked and then nodded. "Touché. Tenth grade then."

"Hell yeah."

"Seriously though," Shawn said, "you don't have to fly out there with me and apologize to her in person. Especially since we've—" He mimed whipping something and added the appropriate 'thwack' and 'pathetic whinny' sounds. "—Beaten this to death and decided that it wasn't your fault."

Dean's smile was a touch sardonic. "I think we're gonna have to take a page from Sam's book and agree to disagree on that one, dude."

"Stubborn ass," Shawn muttered, but he didn't try to continue the conversation.

Dean finished and secured the top, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Ready?"

"You're really going to come with me?" Shawn said.

"I'm really going to come with you," Dean said.

"On a plane? Three of them, actually? In the AIR?"

Dean paled just a shade and his smile was a tidge strained, but he just nodded. "On a..." He clamped his jaw shut and worked it a bit. "Yeah. I'm coming with you."

Shawn shook his head. "Okay. It's your funeral." He couldn't help the grin at the way the rest of the blood bleached from Dean's face.

But Dean just swallowed and managed a rough, "Hopefully not."

One last shake of his head and Shawn led the way downstairs.

Sam was doing a bad job of pretending he wasn't waiting for them at the foot of the stairs and his eyebrows rose at the sight of Dean's duffel.

He looked quickly between the two men, then said, "Uh, Dean, you, uh, going somewhere?"

Dean smiled wide. "Sure am, Sammy. I promised Shawn I'd come visit him in Santa Barbara. I'm gonna keep that promise."

"Oh," Sam said. "Okay, um..."

He tossed the keys up in the air which Sam caught on pure reflex alone.

"Don't drive through the nights, call me when you stop for the day, and do NOT put that cheap crap in my baby, all right?"

"Whu..." Sam said.

Dean shot him a look. "You think I'm gonna fly _back_ here too?"

"No?" Sam said, looking to Shawn for guidance.

Shawn's open-armed shrug was somewhat less than helpful.

"What about Bobby?" Sam said.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled.

The fact that Bobby's head appeared around the door to the kitchen as soon as it did indicated he had been waiting for this. "Yeah?"

"You want us out of your house?"

Bobby snorted. "Been sayin' it for about three weeks now, haven't I? In fact, I don't actually recall inviting you _in_."

Shawn grinned. "Aw, come on, Bobby. You know you love us."

Bobby just snorted.

"There you go, Sam," Dean said. "Bobby's fine with it."

Sam's lips tightened in preparation for a full bitchface, but Dean walked on. "You'll have to drop us off at the airport, but you can come back and pack. Not like you're gonna beat us there anyway."

"Dean—"

"Sam," came the counter response. Dean looked over his shoulder. "Come on. We're gonna have lunch before our flight leaves."

"Dude, you don't even have a ticket yet," Shawn pointed out.

"I'll buy one on the way. That's the beauty of a phone. You can talk to people who aren't there in the car with you. And with a credit card you can even buy things from them."

"Dude, I am not listening to you call 900 numbers all the way to the airport," Shawn said.

Dean grinned and kept going out the door.

Sam sighed expansively, but just picked up Shawn's bags again.

When the other man tried to take one, he jerked it away. "I've got it," he snapped. "You shouldn't be carrying things any more than you absolutely have to."

He headed out after his brother as Shawn rolled his eyes and then went to Bobby.

"Thanks for letting us crash here, Bobby," he said, holding out a hand. He wasn't at all surprised that he got pulled into a hug, gentle thought it was in deference to both their healing backs.

"You know you boys are welcome anytime you need a place to crash, Shawn."

"Really? Because the lease on my apartment is up next month and—"

"Git, boy, before I throw you out," Bobby growled, swatting at Shawn's head.

"Hey, at least I earn my keep."

Bobby's head tilted as he followed Shawn to the front door. "That's true."

"What's true?" Dean asked as he joined them on the porch.

"That he's not a leech like _some_ people who take advantage of my good will."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, well, I've been trying to train Sam outta that for years. You know how the kid is though."

"Hey!"

"Uh huh," Bobby said. "You keep telling yourself that, Dean."

Shawn chuckled as he made his way to the car, Sam joining him after shutting the trunk.

He looked at Shawn and as one they yelled, "Shotgun!"

Dean rolled his eyes as he shook Bobby's hand.

"I was first!" Shawn said.

"Yeah, right, dude! Besides, in cases of a tie I win."

"How do you figure _that_?"

Sam's grin was smug. "I'm related to the driver."

"Psh," Shawn scoffed. "Which is exactly why I win. You always get shotgun."

"Neither of you gets shotgun! How about that?" Dean said as he opened his door.

He got twin stares of disbelief.

"But—"

"You can't—"

"Oh I damn well _can_. Now get your asses in the backseat or I'm leaving you here. Find your own damn way to the airport."

Shawn and Sam exchanged looks of both disgruntlement and conspiracy as they climbed in.

"And you even _think_ about trying that and you're walking from the middle of nowhere."

"Trying what?" Sam said innocently.

"We didn't even say anything!" Shawn protested.

"Uh huh. I don't have to have Sammy's Shining to know you guys were thinking it."

Bobby snorted in amusement as the sounds of argument were drowned out by the roar of the engine and then faded away as the car disappeared down the drive.

Heaven help him, he was going to miss those three.

He paused on the way inside, cocked his head, and for a minute just listened to the sound of silence in the junkyard.

Then again... maybe not.

* * *

Next chapter will be up on Thursday.

Review plz&thx.


	11. Chapter 10

IT'S THURSDAY ZOMJ. NOW YOU GET A NEW CHAPPIE. YAYZ!

* * *

Dean dropped heavily into the booth while Shawn slid in smoothly.

"Fuck," Dean said, propping an elbow on the tabletop and resting his head in his hand.

Shawn smiled lightly and indicated to the waitress to bring them two drinks.

"Hey, we're a third of the way there."

Dean shot him a glare through his spread fingers. "Oh well, a third of the way. Boo-fucking-yah."

When the waitress set the drinks down, Dean picked his up immediately and downed half of it in one long series of unbroken swallows.

Shawn sipped his, still smiling.

Dean grabbed the waitress' wrist as she turned to leave. "Can I get a whiskey, neat? Thanks."

"Dude, if you're drunk they won't let you back on the plane."

"Yeah?" Dean said, then drained the other half of his beer. "That's awesome. I like that plan."

Shawn arched an eyebrow. "What happened to apologizing to Juliet face to face?"

"She planning on being somewhere besides Santa Barbara in three days?" Dean asked.

"Not as far as I know."

Dean nodded. "Then I'll wait here for Sam."

Shawn laughed out loud at that. "Dude, this is so awesome."

Dean shot Shawn a sharp look. "What is?"

"You! Look at you! Terrified of planes, dude! All the crap you deal with on a daily basis and you're scared of _planes_."

Now Dean's look was blank, though his eyes were dark. "Shawn," he growled.

Shawn waved it away. "Oh calm down. You're big and tough and scary, I know. You can kick my ass seven ways from Sunday before I even know you've moved." He shrugged. "It's just nice to know that there is at least _one_ area in which I can top you." Shawn took a drink. "You know, besides charming the ladies, poker, and pool."

Dean snorted and smiled at the waitress as she delivered his whiskey. "Thanks, sweetheart." She smiled back and then left, hips swaying just a smidge more than they had been on the way over. Dean lifted his glass, but his attention was focused on those hips until they vanished behind the bar.

"You were saying?" he said to Shawn.

Who snorted. "Pity sashay, dude. Your hands are shaking like you're in DTs."

"Whatever," Dean said and tossed back the whole glass.

Shawn took another sip and then shrugged. "Really, Dean, the flight wasn't that bad, was it? There wasn't even any turbulence."

Dean lifted on shoulder and shifted back in his seat. "It's still not natural. If humans were meant to fly we'd have wings. I've seen things with wings, Shawn. They ain't human."

Shawn laughed. "Natural? Maybe not. Fast and convenient? Definitely."

"She may not get you across the country in a day, but I'll take my baby over a damn tin can with wings any day."

"I know," Shawn said. "And I appreciate the fact that you came with me in a 'damn tin can with wings' when you didn't have to."

Dean looked up from his slouched seat, completely taken off guard by the sincere thanks.

"Uh... you're welcome?"

Shawn grinned.

"I mean, it's no big deal."

"Yeah, it is," Shawn said, and Dean looked away, searching for the waitress. "But I'll stop making it a bigger one."

He got a brief look of gratitude and then they both looked up as their next flight was called over the airport paging system. Shawn finished his drink and they stood. Dean tried to drop money on the table, but Shawn picked it up and replaced it with his own money.

"Dude—" Dean protested.

"I'm making you fly, Dean. Buying you the alcohol so you survive it with your dignity intact is the least I can do."

Dean looked at him for a long moment, then sighed and accepted his money back. "You and Sam. Both such damn girls."

Shawn grinned and they headed for the concourse. "You'd think you'd prefer that. Gives you less competition."

"What competition?" Dean scoffed. "Not like either of you offer much in that area anyway."

"Oh whatever, man!"

"Two words, dude: Girly. Scream."

"Two more: Avio. Phobia."

"That's one word. And I'm pretty sure it's made up."

"It is not! Well, okay, it _is_ one word. But it's totally real."

"Uh huh. Suuuure. Because you're not known for making up words or anything."

"Yeah, well, if I did make up one for fear of flying it would be way cooler than 'aviophobia'."

"Keep telling yourself that, dude. Keep telling yourself that."

o.o

She heard them well before she saw them, but then that wasn't exactly a surprise.

"Dude, if you get down and kiss the pavement I'm leaving you here."

"I'm not going to kiss the pavement, Shawn."

"I'm just saying."

They stepped out of the crowd and Dean spotted her, flashing a wide grin.

"Why the hell would I kiss cement when I can kiss something much softer?" he asked, then closed the distance between them, sweeping Juliet up before she realized his intent. He planted a lingering kiss on her lips, then pulled back, grinning.

"Hey there, Detective," he said and set her back down on her feet.

She scowled and slapped his shoulder, but she was just a bit pink in the cheeks.

"Dean," she said sternly.

Shawn was frowning as well and Juliet rolled her eyes and took the bag from him. "Don't pout, Shawn. It's unbecoming."

Dean's grin refused to die as Shawn continued to glare at him.

"Hey," the younger man said, "you're here with her all the time. I only get to see her every couple of months."

"That doesn't mean you have to manhandle her every chance you get," Shawn said.

"Who's gonna stop me?" Dean said, sounding annoyingly amused. "You?"

"Maybe," Shawn returned.

Juliet rolled her eyes again. "You guys do know that public urination is against the law, right?" she said dryly.

They both looked at her. "If you're done with your little contest, maybe you could get in the car?" she added, slipping on her shades and sliding into the driver's seat.

"Damn I love her," Dean said and took shotgun.

Shawn climbed in the back, still scowling.

"Where's Gus?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing.

"He got caught in a meeting and couldn't make it. Besides, I figured you wouldn't want him to be the driver since Dean decided to come with you."

Which was true. And so beside the point. Dean wouldn't be hitting on Gus.

Dean also wouldn't kiss Gus and leave Shawn wishing he could too.

"So Sam is supposed to get in on Thursday?" Juliet asked.

"Unless he pushes it further than he's supposed to," Dean said. "Which reminds me," he added and pulled out his phone.

While Dean was thusly occupied, Shawn leaned forward and rested his chin on Juliet's seat.

"Can we stop by a pharmacy on the way home, Jules? I need to refill my prescription."

She glanced at him in the rearview mirror and her expression softened along with her voice. "Sure, Shawn. Do you need to get anything at the store while we're out?"

Shawn considered. "Probably. I think it's safe to say anything in my fridge is past its due date."

"Or Dean and I can drop you off and go—"

"No! That's fine. I'm okay for shopping. Really."

Dean smirked as he inquired of Sam if there were any problems so far with his car.

"Okay, Shawn," Juliet said. Then her voice brightened. "So, your first ghost hunt, huh?"

"Yeah. Ghosts are real. Who knew?"

Juliet smirked. "You mean besides Dean and Sam?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Yes. Besides Dean and Sam."

"And how's Bobby?" she said, mercifully letting him off the hook.

"Good," Shawn said, seriously. "Well, okay, better. But he'll be fine. And probably heal faster without our help."

Juliet laughed. "Probably."

Dean ended the call and tucked his phone away.

"So, supply run?" he asked.

"Yeah," Shawn said. "Unless you want to eat take-out for the rest of the week."

"And why the hell would I do that when I've got you, Emeril?"

"Dude, I'm not supposed to be standing around cooking all day. Not yet anyway."

"You're just trying to get out of work."

Shawn shrugged. "Or I've been cooking for your gluttonous ass for a month and want a break."

"Gluttonous ass? I don't think it's my ass that's—"

"OR," Juliet said, breaking into the developing argument. Playful or not, she wasn't in the mood. "We could compromise and do both?" She looked at both of them, then returned her attention to the road.

The two of them shared a look. "Or that," Shawn agreed.

"Yeah, okay."

Juliet nodded and pulled into the parking lot of the Vons Supermarket by Shawn's apartment. "Good. Because that new restaurant opened up down on the boardwalk—"

"FiRE and iCE?" Shawn said, perking up.

"Yeah. It looks... interesting."

"What is this place?" Dean asked as they piled out of Juliet's Bug.

"Oh man, it's sooooo good," Shawn said, launching into an explanation as they headed for the store. "They had one in Rhode Island. It's like Mongolian barbecue gone wild."

Juliet trailed behind and smiled as she watched them, amazed at the mercurial nature of their friendship and wondering if it was Shawn's doing or Dean's or maybe a bit of both.

Yeah, probably a bit of both.

* * *

Just to reassure any of you out there wrinkling your nose in disgust (or to cut off the fervent OMJ MOAR PLEASE! before it begins), there will be no actual ongoing Dean/Juliet shipping in this verse.

You'll get a better explanation in the story where Dean and Sam and Juliet meet for the first time, but trust me when I say Dean has the utmost of respect for Jules and only faux-flirts with her because, well, he's _Dean_ and because it annoys Shawn.

And Dean is an ass like that. :D

Otherwise, there are a few things left to be tied up. I'll be posting the epilogue on Saturday (YAYZ DEADLINES!) and then we can all sit back and listen to the fat lady sing.

For now. *evil cackle*

Review, plz&thx.


	12. Epilogue

WAH! I WAS GOING TO UPLOAD IT LAST NIGHT. THEN MY FAMILY KIDNAPPED ME. *WINCE* SORRY.

But I am here now and uploading and... *sniff* Man, this is the hardest part of any story... Saying goodbye to the fic and to the characters and to all my wonderful readers who make writing and posting these stories worthwhile!

Thanks for everything guys. You brighten my days and give my late nights of endlessly insomniatic keyboard clicking worth it. :D

Okay. I'll stop gushing now. ON TO THE FINALE!

* * *

Juliet was rinsing the ice cream bowls and tucking them into the dishwasher as Dean gathered them and the rest of the dishes up and brought them to her. Shawn was most of the way passed out on his couch from a combination of travel induced fatigue and the effects of his painkillers.

"Thanks," Juliet said, accepting the glasses.

"No problem," Dean returned, helping her finish up. She started it up and they returned to the living room.

"He needs to be moved," she said, looking at the sprawled form of her department's psychic.

"I'll get him into bed later. Hey, Juliet?"

She had been bent over Shawn, one hand reaching for his head, but she stopped and straightened.

"Yeah?"

Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"What is it?" she asked, obviously amused.

"I..."

Her smile faded when she realized he was genuinely uncomfortable. "What is it, Dean?"

"I'm sorry."

She frowned. "What for?"

His eyes flicked to Shawn and she followed, then looked back at him. Sam was the undefeated champion at the 'Puppy Dog' series of expressions, with Shawn in a very close second place, but that didn't mean that Dean was incapable of a few of his own.

And right now was definitely #325, 'chewed up your slippers and knows it was bad'.

"I didn't mean—"

"It's not your fault."

Dean's eyes came up and he looked so damn heartbroken and confused. "Why do you all keep saying that?" he asked.

She shrugged and sat down next to Shawn, shifting him slightly so she had room. He stirred, but didn't awaken.

"Because it's true?"

"But I—"

"Saved his life from what I hear."

He looked at her again and she arched an eyebrow.

"Bobby, Sam, and Shawn all agree on that point. Three votes to one: Majority rules."

"But he wouldn't have even gotten hurt if I hadn't let him come," Dean said, sitting down in the armchair.

Juliet tilted her head. "Maybe. And maybe you or Sam would have been hurt if you hadn't let him come. I know which one Shawn would prefer."

Dean shook his head. "But that's the risk of being a hunter. Sam and I both know that and we're well aware of the risks when we go out."

"And Shawn wasn't? Dean Winchester, did you lie to him and tell him there was no danger whatsoever?"

"What?" Dean said, head shooting up, expression somewhere around deer-in-the-headlights. "No! I _told_ him that it wasn't safe, but he—"

Juliet shrugged. "Well then, he knew the risks too."

Dean's face shifted into frustration. "Not like me and Sam."

"Give him some credit, Dean. I know he acts like a five-year-old sometimes, but he's pretty smart under that mask."

Dean blew out a breath. "I know. It's just..."

"Why are you so determined to take the blame?"

"Because it's my job."

"To take the blame?" Juliet asked.

"Yes."

Her brow furrowed, so he tried to explain. "I know more. I've got more experience. It's my job to look out for Sam and for Shawn and for all the other people who get involved in this shit because I didn't kill the damn fugly fast enough."

Juliet's expression shifted into something close to sorrow and uncomfortably near pity. "Dean, you can't do that."

"Do what? Take responsibility? I'm sure as hell not going to push it onto someone else."

"Take responsibility for what you can control, yes. Take responsibility for accidents, for chance, for pure, dumb, stupid luck? No."

Dean was looking at the ground, his head up, but his eyes cast aside.

She sighed. "Then again, maybe you can. Not that you _should_, but..."

She regarded him for another moment then shook her head. "Apology accepted," she said simply and stood. His gaze snapped to her and followed her up as she stretched. "I have to be in early. Tell Shawn to give me a call when he wakes up? We could use his help on this case."

"Sure," Dean said, standing as well.

"You need help with him?" she asked as he bent to grab Shawn's hand and tug him to his feet.

"Whuzzuh?" Shawn said sleepily, blinking at the room.

"Nah. I got him."

Juliet half smiled. "I know. I never doubted that."

Dean froze and looked at her, but she was turned away, slipping on her shoes and grabbing her suit jacket.

"See you later, Dean. Night, Shawn."

Shawn mumbled something that might have been 'goodnight' and Dean stammered a goodbye. Then she was gone.

Dean stared at the door for another moment until Shawn said, "Dude, are you gonna hold my hand all night or can I go to bed now?"

A blink and a mental shake and Dean straightened. "Bed. Come on."

"I can do it myself," Shawn said, sounding like the five-year-old Juliet had named him.

"I know, dude. You're a big boy now. Hey, you got your Pull-Ups on in case you have an accident in the night?"

"Shut up, man."

Dean grinned and helped Shawn in a controlled fall to the bed. Shawn didn't seem concerned about his clothes and Dean wasn't going to force it and risk waking him up more. He _was_ a big boy and he could undress himself if he cared that much.

"Night, Shawn."

"Mmmm," was the response.

Dean smiled fondly then flipped off the light and headed for the couch to seek his own rest.

It didn't come quickly, but when it finally arrived it was just a little easier than he remembered it being in recent weeks and he surrendered gratefully to the darkness.

* * *

*listens to the fat lady sing with tears in her eyes*

I'm gonna be in withdrawal from you guys. Hopefully that will make me start my next story faster.

Speaking of which... my current plans are for that long awaited epic I've been promising all y'all, but there are a few other ideas percolating in my head and I can't promise one of them won't get pushy and cut to the front of the line.

But there will be SOMETHING else coming soon down the line. That I _can_ promise you with complete confidence. :D

One more time, thanks to all of you for making this whole thing worth it!

*GLOMPLES AND COOKIES FOR ALL*


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